Hellsing! The Genetic Opera
by FaeryTaleFaever
Summary: Seras loses her memory and wakes in a world that has been taken over by Millennium. Walter takes her in and protects her from the new regime, but as time goes on, Seras begins to wonder if there's something he isn't telling her. AU Hellsing/Repo! The Genetic Opera crossover. (Complete)
1. Angel of Death

Author's Notes: An affectionate crossover between Hellsing and Repo! The Genetic Opera. I thought they were similar enough. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, Kohta Hirano does. I do not own Repo-I don't know has that privilege, but it ain't me.

**Warning:** Unlike many of my other cutesy, happy, kiddy stories, this fic contains **_graphic_** blood, gore, drugs, sex, violence, death, insanity, and other themes that would make Kohta Hirano proud. But if you do not like it, I suggest you turn back now.

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><p>At the turn of the 20th century, the world erupted in war.<p>

As the sun set below the horizon, dozens of zeppelins flew over the city of London to unleash an army of a thousand vampires. Buildings were destroyed, civilians were butchered alive, and the dead rose as flesh-eating ghouls to prey on the living. Even the angels themselves seemed to turn on the city of London, as celestial aircrafts came to gun down the few survivors. Panic erupted, hope seemed lost. The capital of the country that had once dominated the entire world was brought to its knees.

Thankfully, Hellsing was there the fight off the attackers. Led by Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, with the help of her devoted trump card Alucard and his loyal fledgling Seras, it seemed the invaders had met their match. In the War That Lasted For One Night, the invaders' numbers were greatly diminished, and for a short time, it seemed that Justice would prevail.

But there was a traitor in their midst.

Giving up Hellsing's most valuable secrets in exchange for power, the invaders were able to turn the tide almost immediately. Before dawn broke on that fateful morning, Alucard was defeated, and his fledgling along with him. Even Sir Integra, the once proud leader of the illustrious Hellsing Organization, did not live to see the sun rise.

With their main competition eliminated, the attackers were free to move on to Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, then beyond Europe and hit every major city across the globe. Every night, the number of undead increased by the thousands. No matter how much the humans regrouped during the day, they were faced with too many undead than they could fully defeat at night.

It was almost as if the enemy was turning out vampires off a factory line.

Eventually, what few world leaders were left decided to use nuclear weapons to kill the nightwalkers. The results were catastrophic. Not only did it kill humans by the millions, but it barely made a dent in the ever-rising undead population. Radiation poisoning contaminated the environment, and clean food and water became nearly impossible to find. Starving humans became violently ill and died right and left, and nearly all babies were born with terrible birth defects that made the future for humanity seem hopeless. Even those resilient enough to survive the worst of the scourge found themselves faced with a whole new kind of sickness.

By the middle of the 21st century, organ failure had become a worldwide epidemic.

Nature failed as radiation spread. What's more, the dead, walking or otherwise, outnumbered the living by literally a thousand to one. Those who were not killed outright by the undead became infected with their residual toxins. With livable conditions so scarce and the future so bleak, chaos ensued. Humans dropped like flies, this time from within, but from without, and those that were left were terrified as no group of human beings were ever terrified before. Panic erupted anew. Thousands of were piled up like holocaust victims in the streets; make-shift surgeons struggled to find suitable organs for countless dying patients, and grave robbers fought like starving dogs over partially usable organs, no matter how damaged they were.

Fortunately, Millennium was there to satisfy the demand for organ replacements.

Out of the chaos emerged a company that contained an unlimited supply of synthetic organs. Hearts, lungs, livers, bladders, thyroids, stomachs, pancreas; no matter what the need, Millennium had it in abundance. Clean, sterilized hospitals were built, and premium emergency medical care was established for the first time in half a century. Like all high-quality merchandise, though, the cost of the medical care and synthetic organs was rather steep.

"It is just as I suspected," the Dok said to his thirtieth patient on the first day of opening, "If you do not get a heart transplant... you will die."

The young mother, world-weary from fighting undead all her life, could barely compress a sigh when she read the price.

"But I can't afford heart surgery," she said. She could barely barter enough to feed her children. How could she afford a new heart?

The Dok smiled his wicked, wicked smile from behind the shadows, his many-lensed glasses reflecting the surgical light. "No problem."

He snapped his skinny gloved fingers to the GENterns.

The GENterns were make-shift nurses in tiny white dresses and impossibly high heels. Beautiful, buxom and flirtatious to boot, it was doubtful they had any medical training at all, yet they sauntered over to the young mother seductively and handed her a clipboard with different payment plans on it. The way they sighed, moaned and rubbed up against her made the young mother suspect they were coming on to her, but she had seen stranger things in her life, so she only reviewed her options carefully.

"As you can see," the Dok said, "MillenniCo offers a vast variety of payment options, making it affordable for everyone."

"But I don't have any money," the young mother said. "It's been useless for so long."

"Not a problem," the Dok smiled his reptilian smile, "A secretary position just opened in one of our offices. You can use your first pay check as a down payment."

The young mother had no idea what a pay check was, but what choice did she have? It was better than dying of heart failure. Who would feed her children?

With serious misgivings, but no other alternatives, she signed the contract.

The young mother was only one of the very few who felt uneasy about the new organ system. Most death-fearing humans clamoured to the new organs like ocean divers to tanks of oxygen, and they praised Millennium up and down for saving their lives. No more did they scavenge like animals out in the graveyards, no more did they gut their neighbors for kidneys, no more did they flock to fresh corpses in the streets like starving animals to a food trough. With clean, affordable organs available to them in great numbers, they could now focus on other aspects of life _besides_ the immediate life-or-death.

And, though the organs were ungodly expensive, there were alternate payment plans.

"Can't afford a new organ?" many a promotional pamphlet said:

"No problem! Just go on Millennium's Monthly Payment Plan!"

"Join our Payment Plan today! Happiness is but a stitch away!"

"Millennium's Payment Plans **Cheat Death**!"

Music to the masses' ears. After decades of struggling to survive just to see another sunrise, they could finally pause to enjoy the finer things in life. Clean organs were sold to virtually every human that needed them, jobs were opened to pay for the said organs, and street markets were available to provide food for those who were no longer dying. The population finally stabilized; a make-shift city was built over the rubble, and a great monolith with a blaring MillenniCo emblem was erected in the center of it all; and at the center of MillenniCo sat Major Montana Max, an exceptionally overweight man whose wide smile was as creepy as it was genial. He was hailed as a hero by the humans.

With MillenniCo firmly entrenched in the center of the new world, Major Montana Max wasted no time in spreading his influence in every part of the city. Not only did he have a monopoly on the economy (providing not only organs, but the majority of jobs that could pay for said organs) but he took over law enforcement too. He and his right hand Hans Günsche and Jan Valentine developed the MillenniCop police force to patrol the city, which immediately drove back the now-waning undead population so the humans were free to walk the streets at night at last. He took over the press, along with the handsome Luke Valentine and the beautiful Rip Van Winkle, and together they pushed surgery as a fashion statement. Humans ate it up, and soon the majority of the population was buying organs weekly as a luxury and not just as a necessity, "because it's what's on the inside that counts."

But having multiple surgeries one after the other can be very trying on the human body, so Major Montana Max and his right hand Doktor developed Zydrate, a euphoric painkiller that hooked those that were not already addicted to surgery. Zydrate was very expensive and only available for those immediately going under the knife, which assured the population's dependence on MillenniCo's organs and surgery. (Soon, the line between who was taking zydrate just for surgery and who was taking surgery just for zydrate became blurred.)

Still, cheap alternative forms of zydrate became available on the black market . . . extracted from the dead.

Pip Bernadotte, a former mercenary and current grave robber, made his living by plundering the countless graveyards all around the city. "Not for mere jewels or trinkets," he would say, "But something much more valuable . . . something that never goes away, even when after die . . ." And he would stick the corpses with needles and syringes to extract the glowing blue liquid of zydrate, which was always in such high demand, and he would gleefully side-step the MillenniCops that patrolled the graveyards for illegal grave-robbing activities. He grew rather cocky and cunning from his endeavors, but soon MillenniCo released a new horror that made even he quake in his books, for anon have I not said that Major Montana Max controlled the new society?

Millennico manipulated the government as well as anything else, and it started pushing for a new bill that quickly passed through Parliament.

"_ORGAN REPOSSESSIONS ARE LEGALIZED_!" the papers read the following morning.

To recap, Major Montana Max sat as the absolute head of MillenniCo. His right hand was the Doktor who designed the organs and the zydrate, and his left was Captain Hans Günsche who was not only his silent bodyguard, but also the one who put muscle behind MillenniCo's authority (no one dared to challenge him when the Captain was around). Max's successors, extracted from the veins of an enemy, included the smartly dressed Luke Valentine, head of the economy; the crude and vulgar Jan Valentine, head of law enforcement ("Boo Dee Doo Murder People"); and the beautiful Rip Van Winkle, head of the fashion district. Together, they led the world's most powerful, efficient organization.

But for those who cannot keep up with their organ payments . . . MillenniCo sends in the Angel of Death.

Not much is known about the Angels of Death, except that they are a group of specialized legal assassins that go out to repossess MillenniCo's property when people default on their organ payments.

And when they find you . . . your time is up.

The grave robber Pip Bernadotte, who could often be seen hanging out in the trash fire-lit alleys along with the homeless and the scalpel sluts, explained over a horror story one night.

_"Out from ze night, from the mists, steps the figure,_

_Nobody really knows 'is name for sure,_

_'E stands at six foot six, 'ead and shoulders,_

_Pray 'e never comes knocking at your door."_

At the same time that he was telling the story, a very terrified dumpster whore with big hair was scrambling along a neighboring alley. It was ten minutes past midnight; she had defaulted on her payment. Though she would not have missed it for anything in the world, she simply _could not_ raise enough money for this month's payment, and MillenniCo did not accept partial pay for monthly payments. Knowing it was just a matter of time, but still terrified none the less, she ran from door to door, banging frantically and tugging fruitlessly at the locks that kept her exposed to the night.

_"Say zat you once bought a heart, or new cornias,_

_But somehow never managed to square away your debts,_

_'E won't bozer to write or to phone you,_

_'E'll just rip ze still-beating 'eart from your chest!"_

Out on the main street, the MillenniCops were loading a torn-up corpse with an open chest into the MillenniCo dumpster truck. It was already full from dozens of defaulted victims of the Angel of Death. In fact, this brand of dumpster trucks was designed specifically for Angel of Death victims, for there were dozens scattered and left to rot all along the city. No need to keep them lying where they could decrease moral. From somewhere above her, the dumpster whore heard a loud cry of agony that told her the Angel of Death had claimed another victim.

_"Now you can run, you can 'ide, you can try to,_

_But he always 'as a way of finding you,_

_'E will come at your weakest hour,_

_Where no one is around who might rescue you."_

The dumpster whore stumbled into a large elevator-a rickety, case-like contraption-pulled the heavy wooden door down with a loud THUD! and slammed on the button with the palm of her hand, which buzzed loudly and the elevator began to rise. She knew that being in there made her a sitting duck, but being in such a large, heavy, enclosed space gave her a temporary feeling of safety. But the Angel of Death was waiting for her when it arrived on the next floor. With his body shrouded in shadows and the light reflected off his monocle, he effortlessly lifted the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

_"And none of us are free from zis 'orror,_

_For many years ago we all fell in debt,_

_New body parts were needed to perfect our image_

_And until our debts are cleared, we will live in fear of ze-"_

"Angel of Death," was the last word the dumpster whore murmured before her throat was slit with a razor-like wire. Frozen in shock, she gasped and gurgled in her own blood, and the Angel of Death maintained eye contact with her until she fell to the floor. Then, working swiftly and efficiently, the Angel of Death tied her hands and legs with his wires and cut into her chest with a large carving knife. Unable to struggle or scream, she could only lay there with her face contorted in agony while the Angel of Death peeled back the skin, muscles, bones and flesh that covered her chest. Then, carefully snipping at the veins and arteries that attached the organ to her body, the Angel of Death deftly removed the heart form her body and nonchalantly glanced at the bar code that marked it as MillenniCo's property, indifferent to the young woman who died by his hand.

For that is the way of the Angel of Death.

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><p>Traditionally, the murder of a dumpster whore (whose name is Melissa, by the way) is the perfect place to end a chapter, but there is more that you must know before we can move on.<p>

I have told you that the Angel of Death is the only one the Grave Robber Pip Bernadotte fears, but have I told you that Pip is the only one who has ever survived an Angel of Death encounter?

It began on a dark night just like every other, in a torch-lit graveyard under smoky clouds that cover the stars and the moon. He was there robbing—what else?—graves. But this was a much nicer graveyard than most, covered in engraved tomb stones shaped like crosses, angels and other Gothic statues. He easily by-passed the patrolling MillenniCops (not surprising, since they consisted of ghouls) and encountered a large tomb attached to an old fashioned Victorian Era mansion. Thinking that a wealth of zydrate-rich bodies were buried inside, he managed with some difficulty to weasel his way in, only to discover a single sarcophagus stationed in the centre of an empty room.

"But no matter," he said to himself, "for ze wealthy 'ave new surgeries every week at least, and I shall find a potent stash in zis place."

He pushed back the lid of the sarcophagus to find a single, wrinkled, withered corpse of a woman with short, messy blonde hair.

"But hark, what is this?" he said out loud, "Someone steps this way; it cannot be a MillenniCop, for they are too stupid and slow to know where I am. But oh, I know that guarded cat's crawl anywhere and the monocle that glints in the light—it must be the Angel of Death! Crap, he's coming this way—excuse me Miss, would you mind sharing your bed with me? Merci mon cheri," and he crawled into the sarcophagus beside her and closed the stone cover over him.

The Angel of Death was not fooled; he knew exactly where the grave robber was and would have gone after him at any other time, but now he hesitated at the door. If the grave robber had been looking, he would have seen a strangle emotion well up in the eyes of the otherwise stoic, nonchalant Shinigami. Was it sorrow? Remorse? Regret? We shall never know, for he then turned away from the tomb and stalked away.

The grave robber listened to him go, wiped what he thought was sweat from his forehead, and turned to the girl smugly.

"Alone at last," he whispered huskily, "Now, let's see what priceless treasures you have hidden in that pretty little body of yours."

"SLRP!"

Pip froze in terror.

"SLRP!"

He wasn't expecting to hear a response from the girl, but there is was.

"SLRP!"

Unable to believe it, he fumbled for a zydrate vial and held it up to light the sarcophagus.

What he saw was the shriveled corpse, no longer a corpse at all, now a beautiful young woman with short blonde hair and large breasts lapping up the blood he had unwittingly spilled in her coffin with a smooth, pink tongue. When she had lapped up the last of the blood, she turned her large blue eyes up to face his, and they glowed such a vibrant shade of red that the blue light he held shrunk back impotently. He had never seen anything as sexy or as terrifying as her in his entire life, and he had lived through a lot. She then smirked, barred her long shark-like teeth, snarled viciously and lunged at him with claws out-stretched.

Only a human as terrified as the grave robber was at that moment could throw back the stone lid as fast as he did and still survive the crash. In the next instant he grabbed his back of instruments and threw it in front of him defensively. The vampire girl slashed the bag away impatiently, only to shatter several zydrate vials and splashing herself all over with glowing blue liquid. She then let out a terrible, deafening screech that only the undead could make.

Seeing his chance to escape, the grave robber retreated backwards, only to crash into the Angel of Death. They were mutually focused on two different things at that moment: the Angel of Death on moving toward the girl, and the grave robber on moving away from her. So they pushed off each other and went their separate ways. The Angel of Death silenced the girl, for her screams stopped abruptly, and the grave robber escaped into the night. He didn't stop or look back till dawn, so he never saw what became of the vampire girl he had awakened, or the Angel of Death he had lured into her tomb.

At least, not for many years.


	2. Things You See In a Graveyard

Author's Notes: Spoilers from the end of Hellsing alert. The Genetic Opera is merely a play and the Hellsing characters are the actors that play it out. That is why I didn't label this an official crossover.

Disclaimer: I do not own an organ financing company or a vampire military organization. In other words, I do not own Repo or Hellsing.

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><p>Over sludge-like oceans filled with corpses loomed an ominous-looking island covered in soot, rubble, pollution, broken buildings and graveyards, inside of which a sort of shanty-town was established. Over the shanty-town and below the smoke-like clouds and the blood-red moon hovered large zeppelins with giant television screens on both sides, providing music, entertainment and propaganda for the citizens who could not afford (or did not know how to apply) a television or radio of their own. Usually the zeppelins played different programs, so as to send the most brain-washing messages out as possible.<p>

The screen of one zeppelin featured an exquisitely beautiful woman with dark tan skin, long curly blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She was decked in a deep emerald green dress, and surrounded by a black-robed chorus. They sang as slowly and somberly as religious clergymen, and she answered slowly and somberly in kind.

_"WAS IST ES, DAS DU SIEHST, FRAULEIN?"_ the chorus sang, "_WAS IST ES, DAS DU SIEHST, FRAULEIN?"_

_"ICH SEHE ALLES,"_ she answered melancholically, _"UND ALLES IST GERADE DABEI LAUT AUFZUSCHREIEN."_

_"WIE IST ES, DAS DU SINGST, FRAULEIN?"_ the chorus asked, _"WIE IST ES, DAS DU SINGST, FRAULEIN?"_

_"ICH SINGE TRAURIG WEIL ICH SEHE WAS PASSIERT,"_ she answered, _"UND ICH, ICH BIN MACHTLOS. _

_BLIND WAR ICH, OHNE SHEKRAFT. TAUB WAR ICH, OHNE LIED, DOCH JETZT SINGE ICH UND SEHE DEUTLICH, DEUTLICH. _

_ICH FINDE SCHON MEINEN HEINWEG, HEIMWEG."*_

Perhaps it is a good thing that the majority of the citizens could not understand a word of Deutch, or else she would have been thrown off the stage for sure. As it was, only the elites, the rulers of MillenniCo, understood any Deutch, and they were deaf to her misery as long as she sang and mesmerized the masses. (If anything, they preferred that she sang in Deutch to further convince the crowd their prestige and superiority, since she made the language fashionable.)

The screen of another zeppelin broadcasted a female politician advocating the law. "VOTE TO KEEP ORGAN REPOSSESSIONS LEGAL," she said, "WE HAVE AN OBLIGATION TO KEEP FUNCTIONING ORGANS AVAILABLE FOR OUR FAMILIES, OUR COMMUNITY . . ."

The screen of yet another zeppelin broadcasted a news reporter saying over the woman's singing, "COME TO TOMORROW NIGHT'S GENETIC OPERA! TO WITNESS HELLSING'S FAREWELL~!" A glitch, then it repeated, "COME TO TOMORROW NIGHT'S GENETIC OPERA! TO WITNESS HELLSING'S FAREWELL~!"

In the center of it all, around which the shanty city and the zeppelins revolved, stood the gigantic monolith with the MillenniCo emblem. Located in the largest room of the highest floor was the Nazi headquarters; a round, spacious room, covered on all sides with dozens and dozens of TV screens that broadcasted virtually the entire city, courtesy of the hidden cameras they had installed in just about every street corner to spy on the city. In the center of the room was a large plush chair attached to a sort of mechanical crane (which could be moved by remote control) and on it sat the Major, an unpleasantly short, fat man with thick glasses. He was eating, of course; when was he not?

Standing around the central chair, looking rather sheepish, were his subordinates Luke Valentine, Jan Valentine, and Rip Van Winkle. They had changed quite a bit over the last fifty years. Luke was still pale, wore his long blonde hair in a ribbon and dressed like an effeminate dandy man, but he was made almost entirely of synthetic limbs, organs and skin grafts to make up for his body being trashed by Alucard and Walter nearly fifty years ago. Jan had a new body since his old one got burned to a crisp, but it was fashioned like the old one, so there's not much to say about it.

Rip Van Winkle had undergone just as dramatic a change over this half a century as she had the one before that. In World War II, she had been a meek, timid, geeky young girl with freckles, glasses, braids and a girl scout uniform. By the War That Lasted One Night, she became a zany, cocky young woman with flowing black hair and a delightfully slim body that she decked in impeccable suits, though she still had the freckles and glasses. These days, she was uncharacteristically confident and seductive with a voluptuous body that she dressed in lace, leather and lingerie of every kind; still with flowing black hair but now with a smooth face that was void of any freckles or glasses. Why had she done this? Perhaps it had taken over a century for her to get fully in touch with her sexuality; perhaps she discovered the so-called "female empowerment" of holding men in thrall with her womanly wiles, or perhaps she just wanted to try something different. Who can tell with Rip Van Winkle?

At any rate, the Major was not as pleased with them as he could be. He never frowned or reprimanded them directly, but he let them know by his fake smiles and his stealth insults that he did not like the way things were going. How Alexander wept when he had no more worlds to conquer, everyone knew-or had some reason to know by this time, since the matter had been so frequently mentioned. But Herr Major, having conquered _his_ world, fell not into the melting, but rather into the freezing mood. He kept his slasher smile ever frozen on his face, and he froze his subordinates with this unspoken but heavily implied disapproval.

Case and point: the elevator opened and the Captain emerged, walked ever-faithfully to the Major's side, and dropped an envelope onto his desk.

It was the company's profits over the last week. Of course it had increased dramatically, same as the week before that, and the week before that. Their organ sales had increased, while their pay to lower division employees had decreased, which in turn caused repossessions to increase dramatically. In other words, their income _greatly_ exceeded their outcome. They were spending virtually nothing on humans, while humans were spending virtually everything they had on painkillers and surgery, and when they couldn't pay anymore, their organs were repossessed and sold to someone else for a high price. Millennium was, quite literally, sucking every penny out of every human like the vampires they were. And yet. . .

"To control a piddling little organ company on a tiny city filled with a tiny population of surviving humans built on the rubble of a tiny island that had once belonged to our enemies," the Major said merrily, "Well, I am pleased to see that our hundred-year dream of creating a kingdom that that would last a thousand years has come about at last! If the late Führer—Heil Hitler!—could see what we haf created now, I am sure he would be so proud!"

Rip Van Winkle and the Valentine brothers exchanged uneasy glances.

At that moment, the elevator dinged, and a very nervous Doctor walked in. The Captain cocked his gun in warning, and the Doktor flinched.

"Ah, the results of my test!" the Major said grandly, "Please, come in Dok! Please, don't be shy; come in und tell me vhat mein diagnosis ist~!"

The poor fellow only nodded and stepped forward slowly. It was clear he did not wish to be there. The Dok was always eager for the Major's approval; but, by the same token, he was always terrified by the Major's disapproval.

"I'm terribly sorry Führer. . ." he said very quietly, nervously biting his finger so hard that it bled. "It was left unchecked for so long, there is no way to safely operate or remove it without. . ."

"Vithout the Vampire blood. Ja, ja, I've heard it all before," the major said smilingly, but with a touch of impatience. "But surely skilled doktors such as yourself could manage some other synthetic alternative . . ."

"J-jawhol, Führer," the doctor said hastily, "I am vorking hard on it—personally—as ve speak, und all of my medical assistants that I can spare are vorking on it as vell. B-but ve do not have much time. It vent unchecked for so long—vich I take personal responsibility for—und . . . I-I do not know if it vill be enough. It's spreading rapidly. . ."

It was common knowledge that the Major's anatomy had once consisted of a human brain floating in a glass jar full of culture fluid, attached to a mechanical body that extracted information and commands from computer chips and wires. The Dok had been able to fashion a complete synthetic human body for the Major's benefit—a similar organ-making technology that he now sold to the general public at a high price—but the brain had been left alone and unexamined for too many years. Granted, his brain never was normal to begin with, but many of the abnormalities that the Dok had chalked up as being unique to the Major turned out to be serious problems. After years of struggling unsuccessfully, he was forced to admit that there was no way to cure it permanently without vampire blood. And their leader would never go for vampire blood.

Suddenly, the Major smiled broadly. "Vell, here is the final proof that I am human after all!"

The Dok smiled with relief, but then the Major slammed the clipboard onto the desk.

The Captain cocked his gun.

The Dok gasped.

The Captain shot him point-blank in the face; then, after a moment, he marched over the body and over to the elevator shaft.

"Vell, that's lunch," the Major said, rising from his seat. "Let me know vhen he vakes up, ja? I need his opinion on a good recipe."

Already, the Dok was twitching. The Valentine brothers and the Van Winkle girl assured him that they would and sieged heil as he entered the elevator and the doors closed.

The music that played in the elevator was that of a lesser-known soprano who sang, _"Things you see in a graveyard . . . Things you see in a graveyard. . ."_

On the way down to cafeteria floor, the Major spoke his mind to the Captain, who never talked back.

"Vell, this is a rather unpleasant turn of events," he said. "Ve took the world for nothing. Commence your groveling; your Führer is dying.

"Even the illustrious Doktor cannot prevent this passing. Who vill inherit MillenniCo? I'll keep those vampires guessing."

_"Things you see in a graveyard . . ."_ the speakers played as the elevator doors opened. _"Things you see in a graveyard. . ."_

"I'll keep those vampires guessing," Herr Major said again.

* * *

><p>Somewhere across town, an adolescent vampire girl with messy blonde hair, big boobs and only one arm was lying discontent in her coffin. She was dressed in a red night gown, and knew she should prepare for sleep, but she was so ungodly bored that she <em>needed<em> to leave her room, even just for a little while. Packing a small leather duffle bag, she snuck into the catacombs under the mansion, which led into the tomb that she had first woken up in so many years ago. It was a large, square, stone room with only a sarcophagus in the center and a portrait of her master, Alucard, on the north wall. He was a very handsome man with pale skin, curly black hair, a red Victorian-style suit and a wickedly arrogant smirk on his face.

The girl stared at the portrait for a second, then sat down on the floor. Out of her duffle bag, she pulled out a book about insects and a mostly empty plastic bag of medical blood. To pass the time, she read the book and sipped the last of the blood. This was a mistake—she was already famished, and the taste of blood only made her hungrier instead of less.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it—a rat with a glowing blue tail. The blue was a turn-off since it promised bitterness. But its plump, furry little body aroused her vampiric hunger. She ached to sink her teeth into its soft, supple flesh, to feel its hot, sweet blood running down her throat, to feel its essence course through her veins. . .

With eyes glowing red, she stalked it like a cat, and went to grab it—only to have it pounce out of her reach. She tried to a few more times before it slipped out under the large wooden door. Frustrated, she looked out the barred window and spotted its little glowing tail scurrying out toward the Gothic graveyard directly outside.

She hesitated a moment, since she knew it was dangerous to go outside. She had been warned that Millennium had taken over the world, ruled with an iron fist in Nazi-like efficiency, and killed any and all that were disloyal. Since her master had been the Furer's arch rival, and she was his only child, they would surely capture her on sight, take their time torturing her horribly and executing her publically to serve as an example. And she could also see search lights and ghouls in specialized police uniforms with shields and guns patrolling the graveyard, on the lookout for any law-breakers.

But another sight of the rat reminded her of her hunger.

She hesitantly looked at the portrait of her master, as if for advice.

He smirked in encouragement.

Outside, the sun was about to rise.

"This will be quick," she told herself, hesitently opening the door. "It's in my sight . . . I'll capture it . . . run back inside . . . and be back home in time."

Unbeknownst to Seras, there was another sentient being skulking about in the graveyard. It was the very scoundrel who had climbed into her tomb and woken her with his blood, but she didn't recognize him any more than she acknowledged his presence. Her glowing red eyes were focused only on the rat, which she followed out of the tomb and stalked into the graveyard with reckless abandon. Nearly all thoughts of caution and evading soldiers disappeared as her voracious, vampiric hunger flared.

The human didn't acknowledge her either, beyond a mere glance. "Well, well, a vampire," he said to himself, "'aven't seen one of zose in a while; I zought zey were all in MillenniCo, making fake organs for scalpel sluts and fang-bangers."

He had changed since the night he had unwittingly woken her in the tomb. Not only had he aged slightly, but he dressed differently too. He still wore an eye patch, military garb and combat boots, but now it was covered by a thick leather duster and his own long auburn hair, which he now wore loose instead of tying back into one long braid. He was paler too, but this was a natural consequence of spending years skulking around in graveyards at night instead of fighting in deserts during the day. He also developed a pit of a habit of talking to himself, or perhaps it was to the dead; or perhaps he was talking to her. It didn't matter, since she wasn't listening.

"Vampirism 'as crippled ze globe," he said.

Seras didn't hear him. She descended upon the rat. While it was busy eating a lump of cheese, she grabbed it with her long, clawed fingers.

"Enjoy. Millenni. Co's. Day. And. Night. Time. Formula. Of. Zydrate," the loud speakers, which were stationed every few yards years, blared.

Seras sank her teeth into the rat's soft, suptle flesh, and before it could even squeak, she drained it of all its blood in two large, greedy gulps.

"Life failed as undeath spread," he continued.

"Ask. A. GEN. Term. If. Zy. Drate. Is. Right. For. You," the broken, pre-recorded words of the female voice blared.

Only after draining the rat and sating the worst of her hunger did Seras realize her fatal mistake. The graveyard was filled with more ghouls than she had realized, and several were already moving in between her and the door of the tomb. Gasping in terror, she ducked behind a tombstone. When ghoul soldiers started flashing their lights in her direction, she started moving from tombstone to tombstone further into the graveyard to avoid detection, unknowingly moving closer to the grave robber in the center, but also moving further away from the door.

"Buying. Zydrate. From. An. Unlicensed. Source. Is. Illegal," the loud speakers blared.

The grave robber lugged a body out of the stone coffin. "An entire city built on top of the dead," he said, letting the corpse fall with a loud PLOP!

Seras gasped and turned to look at the grave robber. Then, seeing that his face was mere inches in front of hers, she hastily backed up against the tombstone directly behind her.

"And you can finance your bones and your kidneys," he continued as though he had not noticed her. "For every market a sub-market grows. . ."

Seras fearfully looked behind the grave marker she was leaning against. She was acting very much like a little Jewish girl who was hiding from Nazi soldiers, terrified of being caught and sent off to the concentration camp.

"But best you be punctual with making your payments," the grave robber said nonchalantly, finally looking at Seras and flashing her a seductive, roguish smile, "lest it be you on the concrete below."

If he did remember her, this was the only indication that he said out loud, and not with a little irony. Seras, however, kept looking over her shoulder to see when her path would be clear.

"It's quick, it's clean, and it's pure," he murmured, inserting a needle and syringe into the nose of the corpse and extracting the glowing blue liquid he sought. "It could change your life, rest assured."

He held up the glowing blue vial. "It's the 21st century cure," he said.

Seras only looked at him in silent fear and confusion.

He then stood tall and proud. "And it's my job," he whispered, "to steal, and rob. . . GRAAAAAAAAVES!"

"Wait! What are you doing?" Seras cried, but it was too late.

All search lights flew to him. The alarm was sounded. The loud speaker declared that there were "GRAVE ROBBERS ON THE PREMISE! REPEAT: GRAVE ROBBERS ON THE PREMISE! LOCK DOWN! LOCK DOWN!"

Seras, who was right next to him and therefore looked like a grave robber by association, held her head in her hands and groaned in fear and frustration. The offending grave robber himself grabbed the corpse, lugged it over his should and darted away. Seras went in the opposite direction and made a dash toward the door of the tomb, but it was connected to the city electronics and closed before she could reach it. "No!" she cried, "No no no no no! It's **locked**!"

Ghouls were swarming. Bullets were firing. Alarms were sounding. The law she had read that "grave robbers are to be killed on sight" flashed through her mind.

"Zis way, girl," he hissed.

"Wait!" Seras cried, running after him, "You're going to get us caught! Please don't-! Wait!"

He found a weak spot in a solid stone wall and bashed it open with the corpse. On the other side was a giant abandoned building the size of a football field, literally piled waist-high from corner to corner with corpses.

"Jack pot!" he cried, grinning ear to ear.

"How do we get out of here?" Seras cried urgently.

"Oh, why care for these petty obsessions?" he said, "Your vampire heart still beats with human blood."

"What?" Seras cried, then she realized he was talking to the naked body of a dumpster whore who'd had her chest torn open.

She gasped and shot back in horror.

"And why be afraid?" he continued, "When you have strengz, speed and reflexes that anyone here would have, if they could—because you're quick! You're clean! And you're pure!"

"No, I shouldn't be here," Seras cried.

"You can change human life," he said, extracting zydrate from another corpse. "Rest assured."

"That's nice, but I have _got_ to get home!"

"You're the 21st century cure!" he told Seras.

"THIS CAN NOT BE HAPPENING!" she screamed.

"But me? I am but a 'umble 'uman," he said.

She couldn't even muster an answer.

"And it's my job," he said, bowing to her slightly. "to steal and rob . . ."

Seras was grabbed from behind by a ghoul.

"GRAAAAAAAAAVES!" he bellowed, so that every MillenniCop in the building was alerted to their presence.

Several more grabbed Seras and dragged her outside, back into the graveyard. The grave robber, thinking that a vampire could take care of a pack of ghouls just fine, slipped away into the night. But the truth was that Seras had neither strength, nor speed, nor reflexes. She was as weak as a human, and had a horrible sense of balance thanks to her missing arm as well. She struggled and whined as the ghouls wrestled her to the ground, then screamed as they opened fire. The shots were deafening, and the bullets were searing. None of them hit her heart or her head, which was the only reason why she didn't die outright, but she quickly became covered from shoulder to shoe in deep, heavy, painful, bloody bullet wounds. She screamed at the top of her lungs, which quickly became wet screams thanks to punctured lungs, and writhed violently in excruciating agony.

Unbeknownst to anyone in the graveyard, the Major was watching the whole scene in his circular office of TV monitors, the Captain and the now-recovered Dok ever faithfully at his side.

"Let her go," the megaphone rang, but none of them could hear it over the gunfire.

Then, it all stopped. It began with a glimmer of light, thin as a wire, and several ghouls fell to the ground in bloody pieces. A few more glimmers, and several more ghouls fell in a pile of bloody limbs, group by group. When there were only a few left, a stranger marched into the group and shoved them violently aside. He was covered almost completely in shadows, save the light that reflected off his monocle. The ghouls immediately responded to his presence and backed off, but he shoved them just the same, and sliced off their heads with wires.

Seras barely noticed any of this. She was still writhing in a pool of her own blood, whimpering and pleading helplessly. She struggled to sit up and beg for mercy, but she just kept slipping back door since she had only one arm, her spine was severed, and her lungs were too full of blood to make anything other than wet, gurgling sounds. In the faintest shadows of her mind, she had a feeling that she had been in a situation like this before, but she couldn't remember what, and she was in too much pain to care.

The sun was about to rise. The stranger approached Seras, and she just managed push herself onto her side before the sun's rays pulled her into a deep, supernatural sleep.

Vision blurred, she looked up at the stranger, and all she could make out was a pair of concerned eyes before her world went black.

* * *

><p>* Translation to the Deutch song:<p>

Chorus: What is it you see, Fraulein? What is it you see, Fraulein?

Fraulein: I see everything, and everything is about to scream out.

Chorus: How is it you sing, Fraulein? How is it you sing, Frauline?

Fraulein: I sing sadly because I see what is happening, and I, I am powerless.

Blind was I, without sight. Deaf was I, without song, but now I sing and see clearly, clearly.

I will find my way back home, home.


	3. Legal Assassin

Author's Notes: This is a gift-fic for Master of the Boot, for his undying love and support over the years. Rock on, dude! !,,!, -.- ,!,,!

Disclaimer: Like everyone else on , I do not own or make money off of any of these fics. Thi is just a work of creativity.

* * *

><p>When the sun set the following evening, Seras woke suddenly in her coffin. Filled with memories of ghouls, blood, bullets, grave robbers and graveyards, she shot up frantically - only to hit her head on the coffin lid.<p>

"OW!"

Seras rubbed her head painfully as the automated coffin lid slowly rose, until it resembled a four-poster bed more than a coffin. She felt strangely lethargic, like she had done some strenuous activity and felt drained from it. And she was haunted by visions of the graveyard, the scent of the dead, the words of the mysterious grave robber, the sound of the microphone, helicopters and ghoul police. The stress was simply terrifying, and yet… Here she was. She felt so terribly confused; it felt so real, what had happened?

At that moment, the door opened and her butler entered the room, holding a tray of bottled blood and medication. He was cold, detached and professional, dressed in a familiar pin-striped grey shirt with black slacks and vest, with his own black hair tied in the back of his head.

"Walter. . . !" Seras cried.

"Ah, I see you're awake," he said calmly.

"Walter!" she cried again, this time in distress.

"Shh. . . What is it?"

"Walter, what happened?"

"The sun rose, and you fell unconscious."

"I mean, before that - Was I outside?"

"What?" he scoffed. "Of course not, you must have dreamed it up."

He then began tidying her room, picking up empty medical blood bags and open books left out from night before.

"But it felt so real, Walt," she said, "I was in a graveyard, and there were these bodies-"

"A vivid dream, I'm sure," he said dismissively, "In the future, might I suggest some lighter reading before going to sleep?"

He held up a book about World War II war crimes, which had been left open on her night stand, and straightened it out with the rest.

"But it was real Walter-"

"I am the butler," he said sternly, "And I know better-"

"I didn't imagine this," Seras said stubbornly.

"Please Seras, drop it."

"I couldn't have fathomed this!"

"Please Seras, stop it."

"Walter, I could smell the dead!"

"Seras, you're a vampire living near a graveyard."

"But there were ghouls that started shooting at me!"

"A horrible dream, I'm sure."

"Walter, it wasn't a dream!"

"Yes it was," he said coldly.

"Walter, I could feel the bullets!"

"Damn it Seras, you could have died-! You!"

Seras' eyes widened in shock.

"You scare me to death!" he yelled.

Hurt by his tone, Seras cast her eyes down sadly. Walter had never raised his voice to her; and his firm rejection of her instincts struck her like a cold stab. He had always been distant, cold and taciturn, but he never lied or kept secrets from her. He was all she had in the world, and she couldn't trust him, she didn't know what she would do.

Seeing that he had wounded Seras, Walter got up and walked to the foot of her bed. He was never, what one might call, an affectionate man, but he explained his reasons calmly enough.

"Seras, you know why you cannot go outside," he said, and turned to gaze at a portrait of Alucard. "The blood disease that took your dear master from us passed from him into your veins."

Seras knew this story; Walter told it to her almost every night since the night she had awoke nearly seventeen years go. Her master ate a demon and was dragged to Hell, and because Seras shared a blood bond with him, she was in danger of being dragged along with him. Only Walter's medicine, which suppressed the blood of her master the way anti-virals suppressed the viruses (temporarily, never permanently) gave her the strength to stay on this side of existence every night.

"With Millennium on the prowl, do you think they would allow you to live?"

Seras cast her eyes down, and shook her head solemnly.

"I'd be lost if I were to lose you." He confessed, his voiced strained.

Seras widened her eyes, agian, in shock. She had never heard Walter confess feelings so . . . tender.

Yet, his face was covered in shadows, so she could see only the glare off his monocle.

"I will stop at _nothing_ to keep you safe!" he said fiercely.

After a pause, Seras rose from her coffin and walked over to him timidly.

"I'll take my meds, Walter," she said gently, "Don't you worry."

"Just until I find a cure," he answered, turning to face her.

Seras froze, for she had never seen Walter act that way, but allowed him to place one hand on her shoulder and hold hers with the other, their fingers entwined softly. She could feel his cheek rest against her hair (an innocent yet intimate gesture that made her blush) and then he turned to gaze at the portrait.

"Your master, rest his soul, would be proud of you. For you have succeeded where he failed. . ."

He crossed the room, picked up the bottle of medication and tapped one of the pills into her glass of blood. It bubbled and fizzled as it dissolved into the live-sustaining fluid, and he handed the fizzling cup to Seras.

"Once I find a cure, you'll be free. Until that time, I will always be here for you in your time of need," he placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face so she was looking into his eyes. "Seras, you're the world to me."

Though he had stated this very matter-of-factly, Seras was startled by the confession. It seemed so out-of-character for him, and she froze as he bent down to kiss her on the forehead. His touch felt so cool and faint. She watched blankly as he walked out of her room, shut the door behind him, and locked it with an ominous click.

Seras stared for a moment, then looked at her palm. It was becoming see-through.

"Seras," she heard Walter say sternly from outside the door, "take your medicine."

Seras sighed. No amount of kindness on his part ever lasted very long.

She raised the cup to her lips and tried not to grimace as she drank. It tasted very bitter, bubbly and burned all the way down her throat, sending unpleasant shivers through her body. She could feel it burn and fizzle through her veins; solidified her flesh painfully. She had to take that awful concoction every few hours of every night, and triple doses before dawn so it could sustain her while she slept. She was far too weak to stay awake during daylight hours.

When she was finished, she placed it on the shelf atop her fireplace with a shuddering sigh. "I'm infected..." she said out loud.

She turned to look at the portrait of the cocky man in Victorian garb. "I'm infected," she repeated angrily. "By your decisions!"

She approached the skeleton Walter brought to teach her about the human anatomy (she needed to get her education somewhere), pointed to it and said in a stern, pompous voice, "'Seras, I'm the doctor!'"

She turned to her stuffed animals sitting in the corner, still pompous. "'Seras, I'm your butler!'"

She turned to her white satin coffin and pretended to fawn over someone laying in it. "'Oh Seras, that was close!'"

She then frowned, stood up straighter and pointed to it sternly. "'Take your medicine!'"

She sighed, turned on her heel and collapsed into her coffin so that she landed on her back.

"I'm infected," she said again to the portrait. "By your decisions! That's right; I'm infected by _your_ _decisions_! And I don't think that I can be fixed. No, I don't think I can be fixed! Tell me Master why, oh why are my genetics such a bitch?"

The more she thought about it, the angrier she felt. She was restless and bored and couldn't do anything about it. She had never been outside except for the crypt she'd woken up in seven years before (which, technically, was just under this house), and it didn't look like she was going anywhere any time soon. Walter must have known it too, because her room was filled with nick-nacks and what-nots Walter filled to help her pass the time. A TV, a radio, a piano, a collection of stuffed animals and books on various subjects, but it all paled in comparison to what she really wanted: to go outside. But she just couldn't do that, and it drove her crazy.

"It's this blood condition," she said, throwing her book down. "_DAMN THIS BLOOD CONDITION!"_

She then rounded on the portrait. "Master, can you hear me? THANKS FOR THE DISEASE!"

"Now I am sequestered," she said to her bug book, "Part of the collection. After all, that's what is expected when you are infected."

She tried to forget her boredom. She did the things she did every night. Read the books, watched the TV, wrote in the journals (though there was never much to report), played the piano (though never as beautifully as Walter), played with the dolls, collected the insects, studied the anatomy, reviewed the history, looked out the telescope, charted the stars, painted the constellations, over and over until it all seemed like one big blurr. She wanted to go out into the world and help Walter fight Millennium. She wanted to run until she felt the horizon under her feet and spread her arms until she felt the dawn under her wings. As it was, she was boxed in on all sides and couldn't even take five big steps in any direction before hitting the wall.

She clutched her hair in frustration. She thought again of the story Walter told of her master eating a demon and being dragged down to Hell, and Seras being dragged too, because of the bond in her blood.

"Oh, why am I infected by his decisions?" Seras cried, "How much of it's genetics? How much of it is fate? How much of it depends on the choices that we make? He says I have Master's eyes, did I also inherit his shame . . ? Is heredity the culprit? Can I stop it? Or am I a slave?"

She wanted to collapse and cry. She wanted to go out there and help Walter with Millennium. She wanted to infiltrate their structure and help to find a weakness to their forces. She couldn't stand sitting around in her room, drinking the medical blood that he brought her all day, while Walter went out there night after night to risk his life for the good of the common citizen. Just thinking about it made her so restless that she couldn't stand it, and she unconsciously pulled her hair impatiently.

"Why won't he let me go out?" she said out loud, "But how can I be any use to him when I can't even open that door? What hope has a girl who is sick? My dream of a life outside of this fence will never make a difference because I don't think that I'll ever be fixed. No, I don't think I'll ever be fixed. Thanks a lot Master, but do you really want to know something? It's why, oh why your genetics are such a bitch!"

She turned one last time to the portrait, tearfully and angrily. "Thanks to your gluttony and tyranny, I'm forever a slave!"

When the worst of her anger, frustration and restlessness had passed, she felt only lethargy, regret and longing. She drew back the curtains and opened her window.

"Oh, I want to go outside . . ." she said longingly, and stepped onto the windowsill, where a waist-high wrot-iron fence was set up. "Oh, I want to go outside. . ."

How often had she looked out her window, into the world? How often had she dreamed of flying toward the dawn, without regard even for the sunlight, like an arrow from a fully drawn bow? To fly toward the dead city? A dawn dispatch?

The more she thought of it, the more restless she felt, until—

"I can't take it anymore!" she screamed, spreading her arms wide, "PETER PAN! TINKER BELL! WHEREVER YOU ARE, PLEASE TAKE ME AWAY TO NEVERLAND!"

Walter poked his head in through her bedroom door. "Seras!"

"What?"

"What have I told you about going near the window?"

". . . Don't do it?"

"That's a good girl."

Seras scoffed and stepped sulkily off the windowsill.

Walter sighed after he closed the door. Seras was getting too bold as of late; she was taking more chances, pushing more boundaries; and last night, she wandered outside and almost got herself killed. If he hadn't been there to intervene, she would have . . . !

Walter didn't know what he was going to do with Seras. He couldn't very well keep her locked in the basement (he tried it right after she woke up, but she got so restless after seven years that he was forced to give her a room with a window, provided she wore a black wig at all times as a disguise), but with the way she was acting, he felt she wasn't giving him much of a choice. Walter had sacrificed so much to keep Seras alive, and if she were to be killed now. . .

This wasn't the way Walter had imagined life would turn out over a century ago, when he was a young and fulfilled with all the arrogance of a child prodigy.

Until about fifty years ago, Walter had served as a butler to the Hellsing family. He fought alongside Alucard against Millennium in World War II. He served tea and penicillin shots to Arthur Hellsing every day after the war. He exterminated vampires with his razor wires every night after the war until his retirement. He helped raise Integra Hellsing after his retirement. He helped guide Integra into a strong leader of Hellsing. Though initially skeptical, he also helped to train Seras into a tolerable (if not formidable) soldier of Hellsing. He was loved and trusted by all.

But he betrayed Hellsing. His well-concealed hatred of Alucard was far stronger than his love for Integra or Seras, and so he willingly revealed the Hellsing Organization's most valued secrets in exchange for power. After years of sneaking information under the table, he finally snuck away with the Captain into the night and was made into a vampire when Millennium finally declared war on London. He confronted the Hellsing and Iscariot soldiers shortly before dawn, and endured their shock, hatred and denial with cold nonchalance and taciturn dismissal. He was rejected by Integra and received what he had wanted for over fifty years: the chance to fight Alucard one on one. With his army of familiars burned away, Walter finally had the chance to fight and kill Alucard in a fair fight, and for a moment, it seemed that he would succeed.

But he was too late. Never one to play fair, Alucard drank the blood of the slaughtered citizens of London - millions and millions of lives that Walter simply could not kill fast enough even if he tried. And, among those lives, was the embodiment of Schrodinger's Cat. A creature locked in a box called Life, he was both dead and alive, real and unreal, everywhere and nowhere as long as he acknowledged his own existence. Mixed with the millions and millions of lives inside of Alucard, he could no longer acknowledge his own existence, and Alucard began to fade away. In one split second, years and years of preparation and betrayal had all gone to naught and Walter's life was turned into a complete waste. The fire of arrogance was finally extinguished, and Walter felt more than content to die. The only consolation he had, if any, was that his lady and her servant would defeat Millennium and bring this miserable farce to an end.

But he was wrong on that level too. Unbeknownst to Walter, Seras had drunk Alucard's blood. She was connected with him in a bond more profound than anything in this universe, and when he began to fade away, she began to fade too.

Walter would never forget the voice he had heard echoing from the zeppelin loud-speakers; never forget Integra's stern but terrified voice demanding to know what was wrong.

"ALUCARD, DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES!"

"No, I'm sorry Master . . . but this is good bye."

He would never forget the cry of rage from Integra; nor, a few seconds later, the scream of terror echoing from Seras.

"SERAS! WHAT'S WRONG?"

"I'M DISAPPEARING!"

Walter's heart had frozen upon hearing this.

"WHAT?" Integra cried, "SERAS, DON'T!"

"I CAN'T HELP IT!" she had sobbed.

**"SERAS, THAT'S AN ORDER!"**

A terror had gripped Walter's heart like one he had never felt before. Suddenly full of renewed vigor, he raced to the zeppeline as fas as his legs could carry him, his wires clenched between his teeth.

He knew that as long as Seras had Alucard's blood, she could never exist on this side of the universe.

With time running out, and Alucard's blood on his hands, Walter knew that he could save only one.

How he must have looked after dawn broke, sitting alone in a dark corner with Seras' dried up corpse sprawled out on his lap, he could never know.

Presently Walter rose from his arm chair and tried to forget that night. He couldn't help it, since Seras' near death experience the other night reminded him of her near-death experience over fifty years ago.

"Where did Seras go?" he said out loud, thinking of tonight. "It's me she would escape. . . She would flee if she knew . . . My burdens I can't erase . . . The master I might have saved. . ."

It was because of him that Millennium had risen to power. It was because of him that Alucard had been defeated. It was because of him that Seras had nearly disappeared along with her master. It was because of him that, without Seras' fighting prowess, the insanely powerful Captain remained undefeated and killed Integra before dawn. It was because of him that, without anyone to stop them, Millennium pushed forward and moved on to every major city across the globe. It was because of him that the world was the way it was, and he knew that Integra hated him with an intensity that rivalled Hell itself, and cursed his name with every fibre of her being.

"Traitor!"

"Butcher!"

"Sell-out!"

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

If Walter could turn back the clock, he would do so in an instant. If he could undo all of the atrocities he had committed, he would do so in a heartbeat. If he had known back then what he knew today, he would never have gotten involved with Millennium at all (probably), and he certainly never would have fed the two women he loved and respected above all others to the wolves (literally). What happened to Seras was unfortunate, what happened to Integra was nothing short of tragic. If only her servants had not been defeated, if only . . .

"Alucard, we need you now," he said suddenly, looking up at the portrait. "Look at what we've become . . . the nightmare that she should fear is the traitor you left alone. . ."

He tried not to thinking about it. He placed his hand over his face, almost in an attempt not to see the evil. Seras' corpse was to be destroyed. The only reason it wasn't was because—

"Traitor!"

"Sell-out!"

"Monster!"

He had a moment of clarity.

"Years roll by without you Alucard," he said, "Fifty five have come and gone. . ."

The years under Millennium's rule were miserable. The only moment of joy, oddly enough, was the night that Seras was resurrected by a wayward grave robber. He had found her wrinkled like an old woman, screaming and writhing in her own blood like a newborn babe. She would not stop screaming, but when he offered his arm, she had latched onto it and guzzled his blood down greedily. The Doktor had concocted a special remedy that would keep her on this side of existence; but it came with a price, of course.

"I raised Seras with the best intentions. . ."

Why had he taken her in? He had never been particularly fond of Seras. She was weak, simpering, spineless, and none too bright. A far cry from the formidable Iron Lady he was accustomed to serving, and yet . . .

"There is something I can't tell her. . ." he said out loud, "I am lost without her here . . . I am only living out a lie!"

Seras had no memories of her life before she was awakened, and Walter had taken shameless advantage this by keeping her hidden from the world and telling her half-truths about Millennium and her past. She was as innocent as a new-born child, and relied on him for everything. When she first awoke, she knew how to do basic things like walk and talk, but ultimately she counted on him to teach her to read, write, dress, and be knowledgeable about the world she woke up in. So why had he grown . . . fond of her? Perhaps it was Lima Syndrome - developing feelings of sympathy and affection for one's captive. Perhaps she was the first person to smile at him in so many years.

"Seras can never leave," he said with conviction, "She is my everything. Nothing can bring you back; Seras is all I have."

Nobody wanted anything to do with Walter after his disgrace. "Love the betrayal, hate the traitor," as the saying goes, so he was never fully welcomed within Millennium's ranks. They kept him on a tight leash and mocked him at every opportunity they could, but they would never fully allowed him to be one of them. And the ones he had betrayed, well . . . needless to say, they would never want anything to do with him again, even if they were still alive. For many years he told himself that it was fine, that he was getting what a traitor deserved, and that he could want nothing better. And yet, the more he took care of Seras, the more she smiled at him, talked to him, reminded him what it meant to be loved . . . Seras was the only one who was ever happy to see him. The way her eyes lit up when she saw him, the way she ran over to greet him every night when he walked through the door . . .

"But there is something I can't tell her," he said out loud, "I am lost without her here. If she were to learn, she would never want to be near me again. I'm only living out a lie!"

For the sake of one girl's smile, he would betray the world again to keep her secret. For the sake of one girl's smile, he would keep the past hidden and enjoy what few stolen moments of happiness he could extract from her.

He dreamed of kissing her at night. He wanted to kiss her soft white skin, run his hands over her voluptuous body, to make love with her in her coffin like two paramours in the Kublah Khan. Her body would be paradise, and he knew Seras would allow him if he coaxed gently enough, but he was already taking advantage of her company by depriving her of her memories and identities.

"I'm the monster!" he said out loud.

To drive the thoughts from his mind, he pushed the fire place open (a secret passage) and walked briskly into the surgery room.

"I'm the villain," he said, this time more calmly.

Already, he could feel his mood shifting. This was a working environment that called for a clear mind and calm emotions; conditions which he carried out with superb results.

"What perfection. . ." said out loud, pulling his wire gloves over his hands and releasing them with a loud SNAP! "What precision . . ."

A defaulter he had caught trying to escape the night before was tied to a wheel chair (since sitting caused less stress to the body for the time-being). His hands, feet, waist, neck and mouth were bound more securely than a fly in a spider's web so that he could not budge an inch, yet he was still alive and conscious. Perfect.

"Keen incisions, I deliver unscathed organs, I deliver repossessions; I deliver."

The more he talked the calmer, cooler, more methodical and analytical he felt. His mind was now filled with the human anatomy and the most impeccable way to obtain the desired organ with the least amount of effort or damage exerted. All other thoughts and emotions fled, leaving him with a very thrilling sense of duty.

He turned casually to the quaking man tied to the table, and said, "I am the Angel of Death; legal assassin."


	4. Mark It Up

Author's Notes: Fixed all the grammar issues and incomplete sentences in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights to or make a profit from Hellsing or Repo.

* * *

><p>Inside the organ warehouse, the Fuhrer's lieutenants were filming another TV commercial for the Genetic Opera. Since they made at least three commercials a night, and participated in half a dozen public appearances and stage performances (not including the weekly Opera), this wasn't anything new. The night's angle involved a bit of an Italian flair, with director Darren Lynn Bousman filming all three lieutenants dancing and smiling together. The whole thing began with Luke Valentine, dressed in a dandy white suit, getting the ladies and gentlemen's attention with his suave, charming smile.<p>

"_Ladies, gentlemen~!"_ he sang in his baritone, _"Signore, signori!"_

Jan then sprang out from stage right and shoved him out of the way. _"DON'T YOU MUTHER-FUCKING TOUCH YOUR TV!"_ he sang in his obnoxious tenor.

In downstage center, standing still with a cane, Herr Major sang, _"TONIGHT'S GENETIC OPERA IS THE PLACE TO BE!"_

In the background, four genterns were doing a twirling dance with giant fans. From the fans emerged Rip Van Winkle, clad in a black bra and panties under a see-through teddy, decked on heels. She strutted toward the camera with her arms open invitingly, singing_, "MillenniCo! MillenniCo!"_

"_FROM THE FUCKING TRANSPLANTS!"_ Jan shouted.

"_To the genterns!"_ Luke sang.

"_BELLISSIMO!"_ the Major bellowed.

"_ICH LIEBE DIE OPERA! MI AMORE-!"_ Rip sang.

The genterns dropped their fans and began dancing forward with Rip Van Winkle so that they could dance with the three men.

"_THE GENETIC OPERA IS THIS EVENING!"_ the Major bellowed.

"You'll-a-laugh!" the brothers Valentine sang.

"Ha!" Rip said.

"You'll-a-cry!"

"Ho!"

"You'll-a-"

"_SIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGG~!"_ Herr Major bellowed.

By now all the genterns and lieutenants were together front and center, and they sang and danced in unison, all happy and smiling.

"_BRAVI, BRAVI, BRAVISSIME!__  
><em>_DIE GENETIC OPERA IST GUT!"_

"_It's-damna-good!"_ Jan interjected.

"_BRAVI, BRAVI, BRAVISSIME!__  
><em>_DIE GENETIC OPERA IST GUT!"_

Then they all rushed toward the cameras with their arms open wide, grinning invitingly.

"Okay folks, that's wrap!" the director yelled.

The bell rang to signal that shooting was over. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, the smiles dropped. Frowning and pouting angrily, everyone started to totter off. One of the genterns started fixing her hair, while another shoved her. The lieutenants were no kinder to each other than the genterns were to each other.

"'It's-_damna_-good?'" Rip scoffed.

"Hey, I was in mother-fucking character, you Goddamn BITCH! I didn't see you following your god-damned lines, you fucking bitch-ass CUNT!"

"Can't hear you; don't care," Rip said in a sing-song voice as she sauntered away with her valets.

"You will care when I shove my mother-fucking dick in your cunt-shaped FACE!"

While the two younger lieutenants bickered, the Major calmly informed eldest and calmest, Luke, that he needed to take care of some business down town and was leaving him in charge until he came back.

"Of course! Heil Fuhrer," Luke saluted.

The Major was about to comment further, when one of the genterns ran up to Luke and rubbed against him like a cat in heat.

"Oh Luke," she whimpered, "I feel a terrible _itch_ in my panties. You think might be able to scratch that?"

"And me," another nurse said.

"An me!"

"Ladies, ladies, not in front of Durr Fuhrer."

But it was too late. The Fuhrer stormed away without saying anything further, the Dok and the Captain in toe. If there was one thing the Major abhorred, it was female sexuality and the men that partook in it. It was probably because he was the son of an abusive whore who brought clients in all the time . . . even in the living room, while he and his father were home. . . even on the dinner table, while the two were eating… until the day he shot her and one of her clients stone dead. . . then went back to eating desert. He was exposed to so much sexuality, so continuously from such an early age that he became completely immune to it. If anything, killing his mother made him so ecstatic that he could only get his jollies from wanton violence; hence his absolute love of war.

At any rate, he never used to mind when men had their way with women (in fact, when he first joined the military, he let his officers rape the women continuously in his office and it never even distracted him from his paperwork), but many things that never bothered him in the old days were infuriating him now.

Jan had always been violent and vulgar, so there was no love lost there, but watching one of his finest lieutenants delving further into her sexuality and behaving more and more like a cat in perpetual heat was nothing short of tragic. He would almost consider Luke for the position, since he at least pretended to carry himself with a little more dignity than his peers, but for every women Jan took with force, at least ten willingly flocked to Luke and hung on his arms like tacky jewelry. The Major would sooner rip his brain out by the stem than give any of them charge over his life's work, and his precious company. Thankfully, he had another option in mind. . .

Back at the corner house in London, Seras was sprawled on her four-poster coffin. She was dressed in the same red night dress as before, with caped sleeves and a short skirt. With nothing else to do, she drank medical blood out of a plastic bag and watched her favorite channel. There was never anything but Soap Operas and Sit Coms, which was part of why Seras' favorite show was the Genetic Opera. She gasped with delight when her favorite soprano appeared on screen.

"Hi, I'm Lady Hellsing," the woman said.

Lady Integra Hellsing looked as stunning as ever, and sounded far better. Her normally straight blonde hair was now in luscious curls, held up with a bejeweled headband. She was dressed in a flowing green gown with a part on the side of her waist so that her long, smooth, caramel-colored legs could be seen in heels. She danced with two large fans made of peacock feathers. When she opened her mouth to sing, the entire stage lit up.

"At MillenniCo, your treasured memories don't have to fade with time," a recording of her voice continued while Integra herself continued to sing.

Seras held her mirror like a microphone and pretended to sing along with Integra. Watching Sir Integra sing always put her in a good mood; she was as giddy as a school girl.

"Announcing MillenniCo's Corneal Plus: MillenniCo's breakthrough optical technology, where everything is digitally recorded, so you can relive your favorite memories again and again."

Seras smiled euphorically; she could listen to Lady Hellsing's gorgeous voice again and again for eternity. Seras hero-worshipped Lady Hellsing; she always had, ever since she first laid eyes on her. After several months of searing boredom in the basement, Walter calmly brought a television to her room. Seras had never seen or heard of a television before, so she flitted around Walter as a hummingbird flits around a flower. Walter endured her curiosity calmly as he installed, until he casually said: "You know, Seras, installing televisions is much easier when one is given room to do so."

"I'm sorry," Seras had said; but she stood on the tips of her toes and stared at him until he was done.

With the last wire connected, the lit up and a woman with a regal manner and dress appeared. She was so beautiful, elegant, and confident that Seras felt drawn to her immediately. "Walter, who is that?" she had asked.

Walter looked at the screen emotionlessly. "… Perhaps we should change the channel," he said, and reached for the remote control.

"No!" Seras cried, placing her hand on his arm. "Who is that?"

"… That is Lady Hellsing," Walter said at last, "An opera singer."

"Really?" Seras asked, mesmerized by the screen. "What is an opera singer?"

"A person who sings the way she does," he said, gesturing to the screen.

They listened for a while.

"Are you sure you don't know who she is?" Walter asked.

"Why should I?" Seras asked, and then she was lost to the world until the show was over.

Walter had always been rather ambivalent toward Lady Hellsing. While Seras loved the show better than anything else and often gushed about her when Walter came home, he remained cool and disciplined about the subject. In fact, Walter would change the subject whenever he could. Seras didn't understand why Walter didn't like Lady Hellsing or the Genetic Opera. He said it was because Lady Hellsing was a registered vampire, loyal to MillenniCo, and would most likely turn Seras in if they ever met, but Seras couldn't believe anything like that. Lady Hellsing was an honourable woman. Brave, confident and compassionate, she often spoke out for the poor and disenfranchised whenever she advocated for MillenniCo. She was also a renounced philanthropist that donated and sang for many charities. Her working for them must have just been a misunderstanding.

Maybe Lady Hellsing really believed that MillenniCo was a charitable company. Maybe they lied to her about what they were doing. Either way Seras felt sure that Lady Hellsing really cared for the common human and vampire. She felt sure that if Lady Hellsing knew what was going on, she would sympathize with their cause. Maybe she would even use her status as the company voice to try to help them. Maybe she could use her job as a spokeswoman to spy for the rebellion the way Walter used his job as a registered surgeon to spy for them. Seras dreamed of the day she could meet Lady Hellsing.

In the midst of her daydreaming, Seras' teleband (a wristband with a telecommunication device attached) began to beep: "Incoming message." Thinking it was from Walter (no one else ever called her) Seras reached over to her nightstand and answered. A hologram of the Fuhrer's head emerged.

"Seras, you don't know me."

She screamed and dropped it.

"Und I am sure you are very afraid of me," he continued.

Understatement of the century. This was the leader of MillenniCo! A MillenniCop would be one thing, but the leader of MILLENNICO? Seras began to panic. She had hidden from them for so long, how did they find her? How did they know? Did they capture Walter? Where was he? Did they know? Did they capture him? Torture him? Execute him? Were they coming after her next? Should she hide? No, they knew where she lived—wait, did they? Did they already see her? Could she make a break for it? Were they outside? Could she escape in the crypt? How did they get her number? Where were they?

"Und before you panic," he continued soothingly, "I just want you to know that I mean you no harm. "Ja, I know you are an unregistered vampire, living in a seemingly abandoned mansion by a graveyard. Ja, I know you are being hidden by MillenniCo by one of our employees. Und jawol, I know it ist Walter."

Seras gasped.

"Ja, I know that Walter ist a spy of MillenniCo. I haf known it for some time."

Seras let out a strangled whimper.

"However," the Major continued, "I wish to let you know that I haf no problem with that. In fact, I find it rather amusing. We haf received no opposition of such caliber for so long. I find it thrilling to know that someone ist out there who wants my blood."

Seras sighed and collapsed on a chair.

"I can assure you that only the highest of the higher ups in MillenniCo know of his antics, und we haf no intention of ratting him out to our lower security MillenniCops."

Seras groaned and placed her head in her hands.

"Ja, I know it is a lot to take in. However, I did not call you just to tell you that I know you are an illegal."

Completely burned out from this onslaught of news, Seras could only snark.

"Then why did you call?" she mumbled from under her breath.

"Seras, you may not know me, but your master vas once very dear to me."

"Huh?" Seras' head shot up.

"We were once arch rivals, und he gave me the greatest war I haf ever fought. Surely, you haf heard of the Second World War? The War That Lasted One Night? Of course you haf; Walter does not raise fools." He chuckled, "Although I ultimately von the fight, I will always treasure the memory of our glorious battle on that fateful night, und bless that exceptional victory over a such great war."

This man was nuts.

"As such, I owe your master a great debt of gratitude, which I shall bestow unto his child. I would bestow it unto him, but, alas, he ist not here."

"No kidding!" Seras cried, remembering how HE was the reason her master was gone!

"If you could be so kind as to meet me in front of your master's tomb… say… in von hour, we can discuss in person how best to thank you for your master's great service to me."

"I…" Seras stammered, completely taken aback. "I…"

"Unless," the Major continued, his voice queer, "the MillenniCops decide to start searching through empty mansions looking for hide-away vampires."

Was that a threat?

"I will see you in von hour," he concluded, and her wristband beeped off.

Seras stared blankly at it for several minutes. When her brain was finally able to process what just happened, she leaned against the wall and sighed dejectedly. She was going to meet the Major, whom she had been warned for years would capture and kill any unregistered vampires. Whom she had been told hated her master and would inflict an even more gruesome fate onto his ward. Whom now claimed to like her master and wished to thank her instead of killing her. Whom she was going to meet in person in one hour… At this thought, Seras began panicking all over again.

What if he tried to kill her? What would she do? What would she _wear_?

"GYAH!"

On the other side of the dead city, deep in the massive monolith that bore the MillenniCo logo, MilleniCo employees were making good use of the organs reaped by the Angel of Death. In preparation for the Genetic Opera, hundreds of people were swarming to get their last-minute surgeries the way you or I would pick up our best formal clothes before going to the theatre.

However, not all of MillenniCo appealed to snooty rich people interested only in premium organs reserved only for them. The middle and lower classes coveted the designer organs just as much as the wealthy. Despite their love of fashion, they were more concerned about affordability, so MillenniCo developed a marketing campaign for them as well.

_"LUNGS AND LIVER AND BLADDERS AND HEARTS!"_ the radio blared,  
><em>"YOU'LL ALWAYS SAVE A BUNDLE<em>  
><em>WHEN YOU BUY OUR MILLENNI-PARTS!<em>

_SPLEENS AND INTESTINES AND SPINES AND BRAINS!_  
><em>ALL AT WAREHOUSE PRICES:<em>  
><em>BUT OUR QUALITY'S THE SAME!"<em>

The slutty nurses, called genterns, were diligently calculating their output versus their income deep in the warehouse, where they kept all their organs stocked in refrigerated jars, bags and buckets. Several genterns restocked the shelves; others tested the quality, while others tallied the organs' quality and quantity with clipboards.

While the genterns did their jobs, the heirs apparent to MillenniCo waited impatiently for their Fuhrer to return. Rip Van Winkle impatiently pushed her long hair out her face and tied her silk robe over her lacy black lingerie, while her two valets (tall, muscular, bondage leather-clad eunuchs with sunglasses) stood ever-faithfully by her sides. Jan Valentine passed a nurse with a clipboard his coat and gloves, and Luke Valentine was enjoying the attention of two nurses that were whispering seductive murmurs in his ear.

"Where ist the Major, brothers?" Rip demanded suddenly.

"Why the fuck should I know, sister?" Jan snapped.

"Oooh, I don't know. I thought you would haf an idea since you've been here with me all morning."

"Now listen here, you fucking cunt-face—" Jan began, and then they both said at the same time, "I don't take lip from a slu—"

Rip punched him in the balls, so that he doubled over in pain.

"_Cunt_," she finished, licked his cheek and sauntered away with her hips swaying.

Jan's eyes widened in horror.

Luke sighed, "If you two are going to be that way, I'd prefer you get a room where you can—"

"LUKIE!" Jan snapped, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Luke frowned.

"You two are so fucking full of it. In case you pussy-ass bitches ain't noticed, _I'm_ the toughest! _And_ the smartest! I will find a hole and _fuck it_!" And he made very explicit gestures with his hands and hips to show how so. Unfortunately, a nurse pushing a cart full of fresh organs hadn't noticed him. She grabbed a brain, walked right into him and splattered bloody mucus all over his favourite track suit without meaning to.

"If there ain't one," he continued, pulling out a knife, "I will _make_ one." Before she could protest, he stabbed her in the stomach and shoved her into the cart she had been pushing. She grabbed onto it for support but fell over and was impaled with dozens of sharp silver medical instruments on the ground, bleeding.

"I'm the mother-fucking Jan-man! One brain, mark it up!" he grabbed the brain from the bleeding gentern's hand and threw it over to one at Luke's side. She caught it and cheerfully placed it on a nearby scale.

"Only I'VE got brains enough!" Jan continued, "That's why the fatass will leave MillenniCo to me. . . ME ME ME ME!" he then he raped the fallen gentern through the hole he made in her stomach.

Luke wrinkled his face in disgust and looked away. "Oh yes, impressive leadership skills, I don't see why the Fuhrer hasn't promoted you yet."

"Fuck off!" Jan snapped, "You're just jealous that I got more balls than you in the tip of my—"

"Ha!" Luke retorted, "Ask a gentern who they prefer, ten out of nine will say me."

Jan scoffed, stood upright and shrugged away a trembling gentern that offered a new track suit to replace the one that got covered in blood.

"Because, you see," Luke continued, stepping around the swooning girls. "Between the two of us, I don't have to resort to rape or violence to see some pussy."

He flung a few panties into Jan's face, and leaned down to grab an organ from the dying gentern.

"Two hearts; mark it up." He tossed the heart back to a gentern, who caught it and placed it on the scale. "Luke Valentine steals all of the hearts… as well as the respect to keep it up."

"Fuck you, man! You ain't got the balls, brother!" Jan snapped.

"All bark, but no lungs, brother," Luke retorted.

"The Fuhrer will leave MillenniCo to me!" they both exclaimed.

Jan shot at his brother with a machine gun. Luke ducked and slashed at Jan's throat with a bowie knife. Jan dropped the gun, gurgled in his own blood for a moment, and swiped the knife out of Luke's hand. Jan then recovered his voice.

"You wait," they both said, circling each other preditorily. "Time will tell!"

"Luke's face will woo them all-"

"Jan's foot will kick yer ass-!"

"—when I inherit Herr Major's position."

"—when I take the fat one's job!"

"—take the Major's will and mark you out."

"—take the fatass' will and write you out!"

"Take my cut and mark it up!" they said together.

"Mark it up," the genterns said.

"Mark it up!" they all exclaimed.

At five minutes to the hour, Major Montana Max entered his limo to drive to the graveyard. Thinking of it brought back memories of his glorious past. How they had worked ceaselessly for over fifty years to create a great war that they could enjoy to the fullest until the next war, and the next, and the next. It had all gone so smoothly; the infiltration of Hellsing, the isolation of Alucard, the invasion of London, the arrival of Seras Victoria and Integra Hellsing, the reveal of Walter, the confrontation in the zeppelin.

The Major thought they had the perfect war.

Until Schrodinger dragged Seras as well as Alucard. The Major wished to fight to the fullest, to defeat, and to be defeated. As long as Hellsing remained a formidable foe, they could fight to the fullest and die fulfilled. However, with both Alucard and Seras gone, there was no one to stand against them, and the world fell like playing cards before their army. Victory had been too swift, too easy, and too absolute. There were no more wars to fight, no more foes to defeat, and no more worlds to conquer. His own ranks had become corrupted with complacency, and there was no one left to leave his legacy to, except…

"Ashes," he said out loud, "Dust. My admirals were a bust. They shall inherit nothing. Nein, nein… my legacy is too great to throw away on ingrates. Walter C. Dolnez had potential, until he stole that Seras away!"

Walter was a traitor who got what a traitor deserves, but he had carried himself with such a quiet dignity and served so loyally for so many years that the Major had almost considered giving him a position of authority within MillenniCo… Until he learned that Seras, the last enemy he could engage, had not been defeated at all, but merely dehydrated to stay on this side of existence. The Major threatened to destroy her unless Walter continued to serve him forever more, and the punishment fitted nicely until the day her body disappeared. It remained missing for decades, until the day a little grave robber woke a vampire babe. In exchange for her life, Walter had to become an Angel of Death.

"In denial, Walter blamed himself for Seras' sudden resurrection, and never once thought to suspect the man who wrote his checks. I guess I'll take it to my death!" he laughed.

_"THINGS YOU SEE IN A GRAVEYARD! THINGS YOU SEE IN A GRAVEYARD_!" the radio blared.

The limo pulled up in front of Alucard's tomb. Seras was inside, just having come in through the secret passageway. She was very nervous and kept rubbing her side in worry. Not sure what to expect from the meeting, she wore her prettiest and most comfortable clothes: a dark blue dress with a flippy skirt, thigh-high black leg-warmers with matching gloves, and ankle-high black boots. It was both comfortable and practical, as it would allow her to flee if she needed. Seras wasn't sure if her long black wig was necessary, since they knew who she was, but it gave her a sense of comfort since she had worn it for so long.

When she heard the engine approach, she walked toward the door, but stopped when she heard the Fuhrer talking.

"Alucard, it's Montana Max," he said, "You never should have lost to me. I would have given you the world . . . had you given me a great war that I could haf died. Had you not fed your child your blood, she would have risen above and I . . . well . . . It's been difficult to see you after what you put me through. You forced my hand and made me do . . ."

Seras peeked through the window, only to find that he was staring right at her. She gasped and pressed her back against the wall.

"Well . . ." the Fuhrer said again. "It seems the man who doomed the globe cannot engage in one last battle; but I can go out with a bang!"

The Captain marched up to the door, turned on his heel, and kicked it open from behind. It thundered open with a loud BANG! He then threw a holy hand grenade over his shoulder. It landed into the tomb, where it released compressed steam made from holy water. Seras screamed silently and clutched her red blistering skin, but years of hiding from authorities kept her from being smoked out.

"I can go out with a bang. . ." the Fuhrer said again, as he walked back toward the limo.

The Captain marched calmly into the tomb, where Seras continued to cough and clutch at her skin. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her through the door. "No! No!" Seras cried, "Please! I can't be outside! I can't go outside! I can't-!"

The Captain pushed Seras into the limo, where she fell silent. The Fuhrer of MillenniCo, Major Montana Max, sat straight in front of her. On the left side of her sat the Doktor, the lead surgeon that first invented the synthetic vampires and organs that MillenniCo operated with. He was much taller and ganglier than she imagined. Climbing in from her right was… a very huge, stoic, muscled man. His eyes were hellfire and his grip was like iron. With the Dok and the Captain sitting on either side of her—both so tall and indomitable—Seras felt like a weak, crippled child. She did feel very weak . . . then, panicking, she began fumbling for her medicine.

"Ah! Seras Victoria, danke for coming," the major said grandly, ignoring her distress. "It's nice to see young talent blooming."

Unable to open the cap in her panick, the Doktor took the bottle from her, opened it effortlessly and handed her a pill. The Captain offered a medical blood bag, which she snatched up and tore up with her little fangs. She then guzzled both pill and blood down as best she could. She could vaguely feel the blood dripping through her chin and lap, where it soaked the seat, and with great difficulty she swallowed the pill that would make her whole. When she felt the familiar tingle of solidifying flesh, she sighed with relief. That had been a close one—too close.

"My admirals have been . . . well, disappointing," the Major continued, as though nothing had happened. "I am Major Montana Max."

"I know," Seras said; her fear renewed.

"I run MillenniCo."

"Please let me go."

"Sorry to be so difficult," he continued pleasantly, "But I had no choice. You're a tough one to find. Climbing through holes, and ducking in little tombs. Tell me, why do you hide—"

"I'm not—"

"Your pretty face?" he asked.

Was this a trick question? "I cannot be outside," Seras said. "I'm . . . not a legal vampire."

Is that what he wanted her to say?

"Oh?" the Major said, "And why are you not a legal Vampire?"

"B-because. . ." she faltered, "Because you hated my master?"

"Is that all?" the Major cried, "Not at all! Was that so? Well, not any longer."

"I—"

"It's all passé. Water under the bridge. I bear him no ill will; and you even less."

"But—"

"Und I cannot help but notice how pale you appear? How ashen faced?"

"I. . ." she cleared her throat, "I cannot tell you why. I . . . have a blood disease."

The Fuhrer only smiled again, and winked his eye. "But there is hope, an antidote, made by our very greatest Doktor right here."

"You flatter me, Mein Fuhrer," the Doktor said.

"I do," he then turned to Seras, "Und you can be the first to sample it: The Doktor's cure to Vampire blood diseases. Und I could use someone like you, the poster child of progress! It's the cure you sought, Seras. Your chance to see the world, Seras. In your grasp!"

It was all too overwhelming. "I—I don't—"

"A function awaits," he said, "Will you be my date?"

_EW!_ Seras thought, "Um, I—I can't…"

"Lady Hellsing will be there."

"Hellsing?!" Seras cried.

"Indeed," the Major grinned, "You two should meet."

Despite how badly she wanted to meet her idol, Seras felt trapped and scared with the Major. "No… I must leave" she said, trying to think of an excuse. "My butler will worry."

The Major only smiled at her knowingly. "Who says your butler needs to know everything?"

Seras' stomach dropped. Her large blue eyes were wide with fear. She had a very bad feeling, but they cut through all of her excuses. With two very tall and very scary looking men on either side of her, the Fuhrer in front of them, and all four in a locked and moving limo, she had no choice but to say yes and hope for the best.


	5. Sanitarium Square

Author's Notes: I'm not doing the accents anymore, and I'm skipping the scenes I don't want to write. "It's a Thankless Job" is not my favorite song at the best of times, and it works even less for Walter. I will, however, include deleted scenes from the movie.

Also, lemon alert. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Don't own, next scene.

* * *

><p>Walter retrieved the organ cleanly and efficiently. He pulled on the rubber gloves that protected his fingers, and tied his defaulter tight. Said defaulter screamed, blubbered and wailed like a dying animal, but Walter let it roll off him like cool water in a shower. He used his wires to smoothly sheer back the skin, flesh, tendons, bones and blood vessels that got in the way. Carefully, he withdrew the Doktor's heart and placed it in the organ box.<p>

When it was over, Walter hosed the blood off the gloves and wires, and polished the latter to keep from mineral buildup. He was as meticulous after each job as before. Most other Angels of Death thought he was too obsessive over cleanliness, but he found the process soothing. Just like with cleaning, he put as much time, care, and planning going into every job as during and after. In fact, he found that most of the other Angels lacked the finesse to call themselves such; perhaps the Blundering Ogres of Mastication.

After he was done rinsing, retrieving the excess organs, and disposing of the body, Walter overheard the television news reporter advertising MillenniCo's newest product. "… And low density, without sacrificing style!"

The screen then switched to Lady Hellsing, with her long curly blonde hair, her flowing green evening dress, and her large peacock feather fans. She was dancing alluringly on stage, fluttering the fans this way and that, and was fluttering her large eyelashes at the camera. Her large blue eyes could still enchant anyone.

"Hi, I'm Lady Hellsing," a pre-recording of her voice said while she danced on screen. "At MillenniCo, an affordable organ is but a simple financing away. Take control of your life, because it's what's on the inside that counts." In a much more quiet and serious voice, she continued, "Financed organs are subject to all legal default remedies, including Repossession…"

Over her voice, a newsman laughed, "I'm sorry folks, but it'll be a long time before MillenniCo can help YOU sing like Lady Hellsing!"

"Yeah, like, a _Millennium_!" another man chuckled, "Get it, Bob?"

"Yeah, I got it, Dick."

From the zeppelins, the city then echoed with her singing.

After a respectful pause, the reporters continued cheerfully, "I don't know about you, Bob, but I haven't been this excited since my first elective surgery!"

"No doubt, Dick, excitement's in the air! For one day a year only, Sanitarium Square will open its gates and welcome all residents to its Annual Oktober Fest!"

"The quisine! The music! The culture! Wow, MillenniCo has brought in every type of German-inspired entertainment!"

Surrounded by crumbling 20th Century London warehouses and apartment buildings, the Oktober fest was held in what used to be Piccadilly Circle. Said fest was filled with red and yellow stripped tents, red and green flags on strings hanging from the surrounding buildings, and golden lights on strings. The people inside consisted of clowns, contortionists, men in motley coats on stilts, and customers of Goth punk and cyber punk outfits of every time. Surgeons and nurses filled the tents, offering a wide variety of surgical entertainment: Animal-themed body modifications (cat eyes, forked tongues, and so on), Aryan pigment modifications (in honor of its Nazi heritage), balloon breasts instead of balloons, and even new faces instead of new masks.

Inside one of the face tents, Luke was having his new face sewn on. He opted for the "orgasmic" anesthetic, which consisted of three nurses attending his "pleasure center" with their mouths while one sewed the new face to his skull. When he was finished, she gestured for the nurses to raise their heads.

"Genterns…" they moaned, "Genterns…"

"Genterns, we secure the finer skin craft," the leader said, "Scalpel…"

"Scalpel!"

"Needle…"

"Needle!"

"Thread…"

"Mmm, that should do it," they all moaned, and handed him a mirror. "Okay Mr. Valentine, won't you see your new face?"

"It's perfect," he praised.

Jan was not having as good a time. He marched through crowds of people screaming, "I'm going to skull fuck some bitch if I don't get my coffee!"

"Decaf?" a transgender offered him instantly.

Jan slapped it out of his hand. "I will fuck you in the face!" and kept marching.

The employees in the tent (all attendants hired by MillenniCo to assist the Valentine brothers) gasped and cowered at his rage. One teenaged bellboy, high on zydrate, came up, however. "Sorry Mr. Valentine," he drawled, "here's a fresh cup for you."

Jan took one sip and spat it out. "What's this, rat piss?!" he shouted, and opened fire with a machine gun. The young man screamed and fell to the ground in a bloody mess, and Jan continued to shoot at him. Everyone was either too scared to do anything. Only Lady Hellsing, just returned from the stage, shouted, "Jan, stop it!"

Jan raised his head, as though shocked that she had the nerve to speak to him.

Every employee in the tent froze in anticipation of the backlash.

Right on cue, Rip Van Winkle marched out of her dressing room, clad in nothing but lacey lingerie and a silk bath robe, to put Lady Hellsing in her place. "Oh, really? Und who are you to give orders to my comrade when you are to retire any day now? By the way, who ist to sing after you leave?"

"Rip Van, please," Lady Hellsing said, averting her eyes, "It's not my place."

"Someone must sing, why can't it be me?!" Rip screamed, pulling Hellsing around by the shoulder.

"Sister, please," Luke said, rolling his eyes.

"Please be so good as to shut your face!" Rip retorted.

"Listen, you bitch—"Jan joined in.

"Now see here, you two! When I'm running MillenniCo-!"

"They'll love me," Rip said, "They all love the Rip Van Teese!"

Lady Hellsing stared at them in shock, as though she could not believe what she was seeing.

"When the fatso croaks," Jan cried, "You will all learn to respect me!"

The Major then walked in from behind him, followed by Seras, the Doktor and Captain.

"That's enough," he said.

"But s/he—!" they all cried, pointing at each other.

"Children, off!" he cried.

His command was genial enough, but they knew the argument was over. Whenever he called them children, they knew he had enough of them. Without another word, they sulked off. Lady Hellsing smiled appreciatively at the Major, who gestured to Seras. "Lady Hellsing," he said, "There ist someone I would like you to meet. A ghost from your past."

Integra's eyes widened when she saw Seras. Seras' smile widened in return.

"Seeing you two stirs memories," he said.

Integra's eyes flashed like ghost's eyes. Seras gasped and giggled excitedly.

"When she first joined us, Lady Hellsing was 22—not much older than you. She was a lady of fire. I heard her sing, and at that moment knew I must channel her flame, and watch her talent fuel. I could help you channel your potential too."

The intercom then rang out, "Will the voice of MillenniCo please take the stage! Lady Hellsing to the stage!"

Integra hesitated. She remembered a time when she was not addressed as "Lady Hellsing," but Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. She was the proud leader of the illustrious Hellsing Organization, descended from a proud line of vampire hunters dating all the way back to Abraham Van Helsing. For a century, the Hellsing Organization protected England from creatures that went bump in the night; particularly the vampire.

Though Millennium proved to be their most challenging foe since Count Dracula a century before, Integra felt sure they would win. Alucard was the most powerful vampire in the world, Seras was a force to be reckoned with once she finally drank her master's blood, and the Hellsing Organization bowed to no one. Even when she discovered that Walter had turned traitor and traded Hellsing's secrets for vampirism, Integra vowed that they would destroy all who opposed them.

Integra left Alucard to deal with Walter. Integra and Seras mowed their way through the zeppelin. Seras stayed to fight the Captain. Integra charged through to confront the Major. She felt sure that all three would defeat their respective foes, and the Hellsing Organization would be victorious.

But then Alcard drank the blood of Schrodinger's Cat, and slowly disappeared from this world. This was devastating enough, but even more so was when Seras began to disappear with him. No one but they knew that Seras had drank Alucard's blood, and that made her disappear with him. Integra ordered her not to disappear in vain. With Seras out of the way, the Captain was free to restrain Integra.

She did not live to see the sun rise.

Integra later learned that her vampires' disappearing was only the beginning of her despair. Words could not describe the horror, disgust, and humiliation she felt when she realized the Doktor brought her back with his vile vampire technology. Undignified did not even begin to cover the knowledge that they brought her back without any eyes, so that she would be blind and helpless. Torturous could never explain the extent of what she suffered during those long years imprisoned by Millennium; blind, chained, experimented on, violated in every sense. Helpless could not cover how she felt hearing every step of their progress, as they invaded, conquered, butchered, and devoured every free nation across the globe.

When humanity's population was on the brink of collapse, MillenniCo surprised her with a deal. They did not truly want to kill the world's population, as they would have no more worlds to conquer, so they wanted her to be an inspiration to the people. They wanted to expand their organ-making technologies, and so desired that she be their spokesperson to the masses. Why her? Because people needed someone they could trust; someone not within MillenniCo. Humanity was dying, and they needed a beacon of hope. She would be the model to rebuild humanity.

Grudgingly, hesitantly, Integra agreed. She traded the last of her autonomy to undergo the Doktor's vile surgery, and traded the last of her dignity to become the spokeswoman for MillenniCo's financed organ program. The mass's addiction to the surgery she promoted pained her, but Integra consoled herself with the knowledge that she had saved them from permanent demise, and that they might eventually grow from this. After they discovered her talent for singing, Integra began putting on shows and songs to wow the masses. With humanity restored, and society rebuilt, it looked like Integra had helped to save humanity.

… Until Integra discovered that the synthetic organs were designed with the same vampire-making technology that crippled the world. Integra also learned that she had signed the contract in blood, agreeing that Millennium would only save as many humans as she could see with her own eyes. The eyes they gave her were not the eyes she was born with, and she had been blind for nearly half a century. The corruption, decadence, and surgery addiction that flooded her eyes when she looked on society was not even the human race that she had traded her life, her freedom, her identity, even her soul to save. After decades of humiliation and despair, followed by a brief glimmer of hope for humanity…

Integra realized that she had saved no one.

"_Please don't go…"_ he sang.

"_I must go…"_ she sang.

"_Please don't leave…"_

"_I must sing no more…"_

"_Technically, you belong to MillenniCo…"_ he said as his grip around her shoulder tightened; a veiled threat. Integra turned to glare at him, but then the Major laughed, and the entire crowd laughed with him. Even Seras grinned with relief and giggled nervously. _"Of course, I joke…!"_ he said.

"_Of course, you joke…"_ Integra agreed grudgingly, trying to pass her grimace as a grin.

"_You're free to go…"_ he said.

"_I must leave tonight!"_ she said.

One of the genterns handed her a large pair of golden scissors. Integra used the scissors to cut the red ribbon to the newly built Opera House. The crowd cheered, and pictures snapped nonstop. Seras grinned from the crowd. Integra's heart broke to see her servant so fooled, but could do nothing in front of the Major. Her mind burned with questions (how much did Seras remember, when and how was she resurrected, how much of her old power remained, how much had the Major gotten to her, etc.) but she could not ask them in public. Instead, Lady Hellsing smiled more brightly to the crowd.

A sing-song voice called out from the intercom, _"Everybody! Everybody! Line up! Line up now! We've got tickets—don't be shy!"_

The Major grabbed Integra's hand and pulled her in for a bow. As he did, the Captain grabbed Seras' elbow and pulled her away from the crowd. Seras fussed and struggled, but his grip was like iron. Eventually, he pushed her into an empty tent filled with surgery equipment, and stood guard at the tent's only opening.

The Doktor then walked in to pull some blood. "I must apologize, Fraulein," he said, pulling on his rubber gloves with a snap, "but mein Furer wishes to have blood samples drawn so that we can test for your type of ailment. This will only hurt for a second. That's it…" without waiting for permission, the Captain wrapped her arm in a tunicate while the Doktor stuck her with a large needle and extracted several vials of blood. When they finished, the Doktor placed the vials in his medical brief case. "We should haf more conclusive results by the opera tomorrow night. I suggest making yourself comfortable in the mean time."

The Captain then moved to guard the only door in the tent.

Seras was horrified. She had not expected such a violation of her personal space, or this level of imprisonment for a seemingly innocent date. Her mind flashed with Walter's warnings of Nazi Germany and MillenniCo, and suddenly she feared for her lack of privacy or freedom.

"But what about Walter?" she asked, "He doesn't know I'm out. What if he gets home and I'm not there?"

"You have no need to worry about that," the Doktor said, shutting his medical brief case with a loud click. "We shall keep him busy all through the night."

"But…" Seras began.

"I shall see you at the Opera," the Doktor said, and marched out.

The Captain stood vigil outside the tent.

Seras' stomach sank. It seemed like everything Walter told her about MillenniCo was true after all.

"How am I going to find my way home…?" she wondered.

On the other side of the city, Walter was indeed being kept busy by MillenniCo. He received a page from the Major to collect another defaulter. "Collect on the handleman account at once. His payment is past due."

As Walter tracked down his defaulter, Rip Van Winkle tracked down her dealer. Knowing it to be illegal, Rip Van Winkle none-the-less took to shooting street zydrate. She had grown daring and adventurous with her newfound sex appeal, and something of a thrill-seeker. Not only did she dress like a slut, but she acted like one as well, reveling in the euphoria and power she believed it gave her. One grave robber in particular ignited her passion like no other.

Rip sauntered down a deserted alley close to Sanitarium Square. No longer in her lingerie or robe, she was now dressed for her scheduled performance. Wearing long, straight black hair, black eyeliner and lipstick, and dressed in a long black leather trench coat and boots. No longer the whimsical, girlish dancer of the last half-century, she strutted with confidence.

She was also a vampire, and easily sniffed out the human grave robber, Pip Bernadette.

"What's the matter, Grave Robber?" she sneered, "Can't get it up if the girl's breathing?"

"You're undead," he said.

She smirked, "I know," and cracked her whip.

Pip merely and brushed his hands as though he had washed his hands of her. She owed him a fortune for zydrate and he had vowed not to deal her until she made good. She tried to seduce him instead.

"Z me," she said, writhing sexually against the wall. "I'm runninglate, so hurry! Don't keep my surgeons waiting."

"Bitch, _pay me_," he said sternly.

"Later…" she murmured, crawling into a sexy kitty pose.

"Okay, I'll see you later," he said, trying to walk away. After walking into her muscled valets (each dressed in nothing but black leather boots, pants, bondage straps and sunglasses), he turned to walk down the other side of the alley.

"Where you going?" she cried, "Stay here! There's ways for me to pay, dear… other than dough."

Pip stopped right in his tracks, and turned to look at her. She had taken off her trench coat, revealing a sparkling corset, a leather garter belt, black thigh-high stockings, and high-heel leather boots. She was the very picture of leather, bondage, Gothic sex appeal. She was also moaning orgasmically, fondling her own breasts and running her hands over her own body.

"_I want a hit of Z…"_ she sang huskily, _"And we're not talking for free…"_

As she sang, she writhed and felt up her valets. She pressed her body against theirs, wrapped a sling leg around one of their waists, and encouraged them to run their hands over her body. One over her breasts, one over her hips and thighs. Pip looked torn. He obviously wanted to leave, but his hormones compelled him to stay. He looked like a male otter catching the scent of a female in heat; an aroma he found irresistible.

Rip knew it too, and played up her appeal more aggressively.

"_A game of __**give and take**__…" _she moaned, pressing her backside against one valet's crotch while she clutched the shoulders of the other,_ "Baby, I'll give till I __**break**__…"_

Pip slowly walked toward his leather duffle bag. Rip strutted toward him.

"_But I ain't nobody's fool… This __**bitch**__ knows the rules…"_

As Pip rummaged through his duffle back, Rip knelt before him and ran her hands seductively over her long, pale, stocking-and-garter clad thighs.

"_I'll let you __**fuck**__ my soul…" _she continued more huskily, "_for a __**hit**__ of that glow…"_

Pip extracted a few vials from his bag, but placed them in his belt within his long trench coat. Rip then stood straight.

"_So come on. Climb on. Man up!"_ she ordered, and shoved him against the wall.

"_Come on up and try my new parts!"_ she sang loudly and clearly, just as Pip lost control and shoved her against the wall. Her backside was toward him as he ground his bulging member hard against her new pussy. Rip moaned and gasped loudly with every thrust; each one hard enough to slide her up and down against the wall.

"_Go on and break 'em in!"_ she sang lustily between each trust,  
><em>"We both know what we want… so come up and try my new parts!"<em>

When Pip pulled away (to unbutton his trousers), she lowered herself so that her lips were level with his crotch. _"Anyway you want,"_ she moaned, pushing back his knee-length trench coat so that she could see what he was packing underneath: a coarse white shirt (like a pirate's), a utility belt with several glowing vials, green-brown army pants and combat boots.

"_You know you wanna __**take me**_—" she choked out the last part when he grabbed her neck to raise her to be eye level with him. _"What's the matter, Grave Robber?"_ she whispered huskily as he started kissing her neck. _"__**Take me!**__ I can take it baby…"_ she whispered as she lowered herself into a crouching pussy-cat position on the ground, her pussy facing him. _"Don't care where you put it… why don't you surprise me?" _With him still standing directly behind her_, _and her still on all fours,Rip straightened her legs and arms so that her crotch pushed up against his.

"_Come on, __**work me**__…!"_ she ordered as he lowered her into a missionary position on the ground. _"You know you like it __**naughty**__!"_ she exclaimed as she side-kicked him so hard he fell to the ground. _"So, naughty boy, __**take me**__!"_ she demanded as she backed up against the wall, and he scrambled to his feet.

"_And I ain't askin'…"_ she whispdered.

"_Come on up and try my new parts!"_ she rang out as Pip finally took her. With his trousers unzipped and her leather thong pushed aside, Pip finally shoved her against the wall, broke through her virgin barrier and _fucked. Her. __**Hard**__._ Rip gasped and moaned with each powerful thrust. _"Go on and break 'em in…"_ she groaned as each thrust slid her up and down the wall. She arched her hips toward his, clutched his shoulders with her nails, and squeezed his hips with her legs with every thrust. She rode him like a bull; each buck jerking her up and down with increasing speed and consistency.

"_Before I change my heart…"_ she shuddered as they neared completion, and the Grave Robber lowered her to the concrete. She sprawled her arms over her head so that her breasts rose up, and draped her legs over his waist. They were so close to that euphoric completion she could taste it. _"Come up and try my new parts…" _she concluded, her brain too clouded with pleasure to think.

Pip extracted a vial of Z and extended it to Rip. She grinned in satisfaction. However, Pip flicked his hand and the vial disappeared. To her look of shock, he leaned closer. _"Later…"_ he whispered huskily, just as she had done to him earlier, and pushed off of her and took off down the alley.

Rip's jaw dropped with horror. She could hardly believe his gall! He had played her for a fool. Still in the throes of passion, she could barely think or coordinate enough to get up or follow him. "Hey!" was all she could say.

Back in the surgical tent, Seras flinched as she accidentally knocked over a tray. The Captain's eyes briefly flickered in her direction, but otherwise he did not move. She tried to get to a corner where he could not see, but she feared he would still be able to hear her. She didn't dare try to escape, because she did not know how he would react.

Seras nearly jumped when her teleband informed her of an incoming message. It was Walter. Crap. What did he want? What would she tell him? Did he know she wasn't home? Was he just calling to check in? Could she pretend everything was normal? No, he could tell when she was lying even over the littlest things. Could she ignore his call? No, he would know something was wrong the second she didn't answer. She would just have to take the call. She prayed he wouldn't figure out anything was wrong.

"Seras?" he asked calmly when she answered.

"Yes, Walt?" she asked nervously.

"Did you take your medicine?"

"Yes, Walt!" she replied too quickly.

"Liar."

"All right, I'll take it now…" she said, reaching for her bag.

Some drunken idiot shouted with joy outside her tent.

"What's that?" he asked sharply.

Seras' stomach dropped. Maybe if she played innocent. "… What's what?"

"**That**," he said in a stern voice that demanded no funny business.

"Oh, **that**…" she said casually, and tried to think of a suitable excuse, "… my window is cracked."

She nearly fainted with frustration when he said, "Then why aren't you wearing your mask? Should I head back?"

"No, I'm fine!" Seras cried; her hand over her headache.

"I can be there in no time," he assured her.

"That won't be needed!" she assured him.

"But Seras…"

"Your patients need you!" she said.

Caught on his own lie, Walter was silent.

"Walt, who's that?" Seras said suddenly.

His defaulter, who was hung by the legs, was starting to wake up from a blow to the head.

"Oh, that? One of my patients…" Walter assured her, scrambling to come up with his own believable lie, "He's… sick," Walter said as he severed the neck with the flick of a wire.

"Will he live?" Seras asked.

"It's looking grim. I should…"

"Stay there for a while!" Seras urged.

"I will rush home when I'm done."

"Take your time!" Seras cried, "Nothing's wrong!"

"I'll see you later," they both said at the same time.

No sooner did she hang up before the pre-recorded voice repeat, "Medicine Reminder," and she started searching through her duffle back. Seras just barely managed to choke down the pill before she lost the ability to feel solid objects.

Walter, for his part, was working more quickly and sloppily than usual. He was more haphazardous about severing the tendons and veins and all but yanked the spine out of the defaulter's back to get the work over with quickly.

Seras, for her part, was working more diligently to find a way out. She needed to get home before Walter, or the jig would be up and he would force her into hiding again. Just then, the tent wall ripped open and the grave robber from the night before poked his head through. His hair was still long and red, his face was still pale, and his eye still had one patch.

"You're real?!" Seras gasped.

"Duh."

"Don't bother me!" Seras snapped, still remembering the trouble he got her into the night before (if it happened). "You'll get me caught!" she said, looking over toward the Captain. He didn't seem to notice yet.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I must get home," she said.

He tore through the hole. "Follow me!" he said.

Seeing no other way out and having no time to lose, Seras ran through. Pip grabbed a zydrate gun and followed after her. He soon took the lead, however, and pulled Seras' hand through the crowd of excited onlookers. "Where are you taking me?!" she cried.

Just then, Rip Van Winkle appeared. "There you are!" she cried peevishly.

"Who's that?" Seras cried.

"That's trouble," Pip answered.

"You can't run!" Rip called.

"This way," Pip said.

"_Help me home_," Seras demanded.

"Follow me!" he whispered.

Pip lugged a large hay stack over his shoulder to slow his attacker. It landed harmlessly in front of Rip. She stared at for a moment, then calmly walked over it; her valets close behind. Behind them, a man surgically altered to resemble a chicken hopped onto the haystack, and pecked at his popcorn.


	6. Zydrate Anatomy

Author's Notes: Some limey goodness this chapter.

Disclaimer: I'm not making money off this.

* * *

><p>As Pip and Seras made their escape through the crowd, Herr Major held a public relations press conference in front of the new opera building.<p>

While the rich filed in to buy their tickets and Lady Hellsing went to get ready back stage, Herr Major, the Brothers Valentine and several of their prettiest genterns remained stationed on the front steps. A group of eager reporters and photographers stood ready with microphones and cameras, while a large crowd of the poor and middle classes clamored behind them.

One sassy gay reporter with black and silver makeup managed to catch the Major's attention. "Oh, Major Max?" he called. When the Major motioned for him to come up, he did so. "How are you? The folks at home would like to know your thoughts about _zydrate juice_ and its abuses… Would you care to comment, Fuhrer?"

The Major smiled his wide smile. "Well, I am glad you asked, gut citizen. Let me direct the matter to my lieutenant, the head of the fashion district, und the mind behind the Zydrate Support Network. Welcome Rip Van Winkle to the stage!" he called grandly, gesturing to the empty flat of stares behind him.

When no one came out, he cleared his throat, and called more loudly, "Welcome! Rip Van! To the stage!"

When nothing happened, a snap shot captured a rare glare from their Fuhrer. Rip Van Winkle was a no-show… again. While normally patient and polite to the point of creepiness, everyone knew that the Major was running out of patience for Rip's increasingly erratic behavior.

In fact, every lieutenant's behavior was increasingly undesirable. With Jan's violent outbursts, Luke's increasingly effeminate behavior, and Rip's ever-changing-appearance, the world questioned whether any of them would make worthy replacements to their Fuhrer's legacy.

Rip especially seemed barely aware of what was going on half the time. While no one would accuse her openly, as they dared not anger their Nazi regime, gossip columnists and magazines none-the-less "speculated" that Rip might be addicted to surgery. Since everyone knew the Major had cut her off and she continued to blow through faces like tissue anyway, many wondered if she was addicted to _street zydrate_? It would be quite the scandal, considering she was the founder of the Zydrate Support Network; designed to help common citizens control their addiction to zydrate.

Speaking of which, a group meeting let out in a nearby alleyway. Over a dozen scalpel sluts and dumpster whores in all fashions and colors stumbled out of the abandoned warehouse. Strung out, lethargic, and uncoordinated, they mostly stared at the ground and stumbled as they walked. They dressed mostly in tattered fishnet shirts, stockings, and gloves of all colors; lingerie of every kind (camis, corsets, garter belts, lace, leather, and even regular bras and panties), and high heels of every kind. Their hair and makeup were all dyed different colors, some with several different colors each. They all looked as though they had dressed in the dark, or in a drunken stupor, or were not even aware of what they wore. Considering it was years since most of them were sober, this was not far off the market.

Their lethargy was broken when Pip Bernadette dashed into the alley while holding Seras' hand. He then let go and made a sharp turn so that she was left still running. Seras gasped as she bumped straight into a large scalpel slut.

The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties, decked in garish makeup and jewelry. She wore fishnets and lingerie of different colors, and dirty dyed hair snarled into a messy bun. She also smelled of body odor and cigarette smoke. Her street-walking attire differed tremendously with young, clean, conservatively-dressed Seras.

"How old are you?" she drawled.

"I-I don't know… Um, 19?"

"Can't remember, huh?" a nearby scalpel slut said, "Can't blame you. Z does that to people…"

The hooker in front of Seras noticed her missing arm, and lazily drew her finger over it, "A little trans-surge will fix that right up…"

Seras flinched back, and cast a questioning glance at her guide. He was casually surveying a nearby "Zydrate Support Network Group Meeting" poster and their surroundings. He seemed quite at home in this environment, so Seras tried to feel at ease with the street-walker.

The woman continued, "I had my first surgery when I was 13, and thanks to Z I couldn't feel or remember a thing. A month later… I was turning tricks."

She smirked and walked away. Seras stared blankly for moment, and then grimaced.

The scalpel slut offered the grave robber a gold coin. He yanked it roughly from her hand, but after a moment she just smiled at him fondly and trailed a finger down his coat. After a moment he smirked as well, and shook his head. The colorful scalpel sluts were now slowly circling around him like satellites orbiting a star. The grave robber sneered; it was clear he held them all in contempt.

"_Drug market…"_ he sang to the beat of the radio loud speaker, _"Sub market…"_ he smirked nostalgically, _"Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in."_

Another lethargic scalpel slut tried to touch Seras' face, but she swatted her hand away.

"_Blood market… __**Love market**__…"_ he murmured huskily in response to the scalpel slut brushing her lips seductively against his coat.

Their behavior unnerved Seras, who was deeply unnerved by sexual interaction of any kind. Her rigid, sober demeanor stood out like a dark solid rock in a stream of neon fishnets and rainbow hair dyes. Her large, innocent eyes, solid navy dress buttoned up to her neck, solid black high-thigh stockings and flat heel boots made her look like a sheltered child amidst the highly drugged, sexed, and strung out hookers, homeless, scalpel sluts and street-walkers.

The grave robber continued to fondle the scalpel slut's cheek.

"_Sometimes I wonder why they __**need me at all!**__"_ he shouted suddenly, shoving her back. At the same time, several scalpel sluts who had hitherto been interacting lethargically snapped at each other.

"_Zydrate comes in a little glass vial!"_ he sang briskly, holding one high.

"A little glass vial?"

"_**A little glass vial!"**_ the scalpel sluts all shouted back at her.

Seras flinched and cast her eyes downward.

"_And the little glass vial goes into the gun like a battery…"_ he continued, demonstrating with the gun he filched. The scalpel sluts flocked to him on their knees; clamoring over him like nymphomaniacs for an aphrodisiac.

"_And the zydrate gun goes somewhere against your anatomy…"_ he continued, and shot up a woman in the crowd.

"_And when the gun goes off, it sparks and you're ready for surgery… surgery…"_ He pressed the gun against scalpel slut that frightened Seras' inner thigh and pulled the trigger. She arched and moaned orgasmically.

"_Grave Robber… Grave Robber…"_ Rip drawled seductively as sauntered through the alley, with one hand on her hip and the other swinging front to back. _"Sometimes I wonder why I even bother… Grave Robber… Heart-Throbber…"_ Seras flinched when she recognized who it was, but Rip didn't notice Seras as she was too focused on the grave robber. _"Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all!"_ Rip then shoved him against the wall, but he easily flipped her around.

"_And Rip Van Wink is addicted to the knife."_

"_Addicted to the knife?"_

"_Addicted to the knife!"_

"_And addicted to the knife, she needs a little help with the agony…"_

"_**Agony!"**_ the scalpel sluts sang euphorically.

The grave robber grimaced.

"_And a little help comes in a little glass vial and a gun pressed against her anatomy_," the grave robber continued as Rip smirked seductively and led him to the wall. _"And when the gun goes off, Miss Wink is ready for surgery… __**surgery**__…"_

"_Grave Robber…"_ Rip sang huskily, her hands against the wall and her hips swaying seductively. _**"Heart-Throbber…" **_she gasped, turning around so that her writhing faced him. Pip looked completely unimpressed by her seduction attempts. _"Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all…"_

Without further comment, he shot the gun against her inner thigh.

A complete change overcame Rip's demeanor. Her body seemed to seize up and go slack at the same time. Her face as though she experienced absolute euphoria and lethargy at the same time. The effects of her trip seemed to ripple through the air. The force of her vampire's high seemed to course through the air as it coursed through her veins.

"_It's rare…"_ the scalpel sluts all sang in unison.

It was as though they were all riding her high.

"_It's pure…"_

"It's what?" Seras cried.

"_It takes you there…"_ they all sang.

"It what?" Seras asked fearfully, as she could feel the vampire's high creeping into her blood.

"_It takes you __**there**__…" _the grave robber whispered seductively in her ear.

"_**It takes you **__**there**__**…"**_ Rip murmured huskily, writhing in the throes of passion.

The whole world seemed to flicker, con**vulse** and_ sprawl out before Seras's vision. Not just her eyes, but her mind, her feelings, and her entire being. It was as though she were undergoing the effects of Rip Van Winkle's euphoric high. Not just as an observer, but as the one pierced with the gun designed to mimic a vampire's bite. Not a false vampire like Millennium… but true vampires like her Master, so many years ago… biting her… turning her virgin blood into a vampire's vessel…_

"_Before the __**bite**__…"_ _Pip whispered seductively in her ear._

_Shadows memories surfaced through her mind… Not memories so much as strong déjà vu… She had been through this before… Images of blood and fangs and reds of eyes and hands in white running over her body like silken ribbons…_

"_**Mmm, I can't feel nothing at all…"**__ Rip murmured, while thousands of white gloved hands from red sleeves caressed her every curve…_

_She saw Rip… she was Rip… she was ripped… open…_

"_**It's surgery…"**__ they all gasped…_

_She felt as though she were straddled by a supple body. Her passions ignited; her nethers swelled from the soft pressure… _

"_**It's red…"**_

_The pleasure in her abdomen blossomed like as her soft tongue tasted sweet virgin blood from a warm finger…_

"_**It's raw…"**_

_The pressure in her abdomen spiked as fangs pierced her flesh… Her blood sang and cried out as her savior bit harder into her neck… _

"_**It takes you **__**inside**__**…"**__ her beloved mercenary sang huskily in her ear…_

_His handsome, rugged voice brought her closer to reality… Her memories were fading… Her high was coming down… She was vaguely aware that she was not herself… _

_Seras clutched her chest fearfully as the grave robber placed a steadying hand on her shoulder._

"_**BE ALIVE!"**__ Rip cried so loudly that the world flooded as though from a tidal wave._

_The wave hit Seras so hard that the force of the impact_ snapped her world to normal.

Seras was in a dirty alley with the nameless grave robber. Brick walls, metal fire escapes and overloaded dumpsters surrounded them. The place smelled of rubbish and unwashed humans. Rip slumped in front of them, nearly passed out from her high. The scalpel sluts around them swayed lazily with the music, still riding Rip's high. The grave robber whistled a familiar tune next to her.

"Hey, that's Lady Hellsing's song…" Seras whispered.

"WHO DID THAT?!" Rip screeched.

The grave robber pointed as Seras.

She glared at him.

"_So you think you got heart?"_ Rip snarled at Seras, struggling to get up. _"So you think you got __**fangs**__?"_ she scrambled up, nearly lunging at Seras. _"So you think Hell Girl can sing?"_

"… _I don't think nothing at all,"_ Seras sang fearfully.

"So you thing HELL has pipes? Well, it's my turn to shine… when the Angel does strike!"

"… _What are you talking about?" _

Rip handed Seras a rolled up magazine.

"_Hellsing's contract 'as some Mighty Fine Print,"_ the grave robber answered.

"_Some Mighty Fine Print?" _

"_**Mighty fine…"**_ the scalpel sluts drawled.

"_Oui, and that Mighty Fine Print puts Lady Hellsing in a Mighty Fine Predicament."_

"Oh boy does it ever!" Rip cackled.

"_You see, girl, if Hellsing up and splits, her eyes are forfeit. And if Durr Fuhrer so wills it… then an Angel of Death will swoop down and she'll pay for that surgery… surgery…"_ he looked around, then nodded to Seras. At the final _"surgery,"_ he grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

A moment later, the alleyway flooded with armed ghouls. The scalpel sluts screamed and scattered as bullets fired from every direction. In the midst of the massacre, Rip Van Winkle slumped against her valets and passed into a drug-induced stupor. _"I can't feel nothing at all…"_

Pip and Seras bolted out of the alley, and then ducked back in before they were run over by a body truck. As soon as it passed, the grave robber hopped onto the back bumper and motioned for Seras to do the same. When she had difficulty climbing on due to her one arm, he grabbed her by the scruff and set her down.

"… Thanks," said when they were a safe distance away.

"No problem," he replied, and lit a cigarette.

Seras blinked. Something about the way he clutched the ugly brown cigarette between his lips and covered the flame from the little silver lighter with his cupped hands sparked a memory in her. She'd never seen this man smoke before, yet his mannerisms looked… familiar…

"… Forgive me," she finally said, "but have we met before?"

"Duh," he said, flipping the lighter closed and exhaling deeply. "We met last night in the graveyard, remember?"

Something about his callous tone ignited childish anger in her.

"Not till now," Seras bristled. "I thought it was just a nightmare."

"Some nightmares are too 'orrible to be dreams, girlie."

"I'll say!" she snapped, "You left me for dead in the graveyard!"

"I thought you were a vampire," he shrugged. "Ghouls are slow even for 'umans."

"Well, I'm not—I mean…" Seras blustered, "I'm a special case!"

"So I see," he said, leaning casually against the truck. His eyes flickered over her arm.

Before Seras could retort, he said, "I made sure to look out for you today, didn't I?"

Seras faltered. He had rescued her from the tent, led her out of the carnival, kept an eye on her around the scalpel sluts, and helped her escape from the swarming ghouls. Granted, he had also gotten her in trouble with Rip Van Winkle, just as he got her in trouble with the GeneCops the night before… but this time he was there to get her out of trouble again.

"Why _have_ you been helping me?"

He took a deep drag from his cigarette and leaned forward.

"What if I told you we 'ave met before?" he asked gravely, draping his cigarette-holding arm lazily over his propped up knee. "A long time ago, in a life very different from this… And something terrible happened. So terrible, that you don't even want to remember?"

"But I _do_ remember," Seras snapped, childishly, "You left me to die in the graveyard!"

"Oh, I'm talking about something much more terrible than ghoulies, pretty girl," he said. He took another lazy drag from his cigarette, and stared into the distance. "I'm talking about something much more terrible."

Seras wanted to ask what, but his eyes were so deep and distant that her question died in her throat. His mind seemed lost in the distant past.

After thinking about it further though, Seras realized it couldn't have been the distant past; not for her, anyway. It couldn't be possible. He was but a human, and Seras could not remember meeting him till the night before. Before that, she had lived in isolation for over 17 years. Before that, Walter had said she had been in a deep vampiric sleep for half a century. There was no way he could have even been born when she went down. Perhaps he confused her for someone else.

Then again, so many things about him seemed oddly familiar. His face, his voice, his mannerisms… all of them seemed so familiar, so comforting, so… Perhaps she had known an ancestor of his in her past life? Perhaps he had been raised stories of her and felt as though he knew her already? The thought made her think of destined love, which made her shy and nervous, and she buried her head in her knees.

The two remained lost in thought till the body truck drove by her house. (He told her it would when they first hopped on.) The grave robber continued to place newly filled zydrate vials from the corpses in the truck into his bag as Seras hopped off the truck and ran up to her door.

Hesitantly, she looked back.

The Grave Robber blew her a heart-shaped smoke ring.

Not knowing how to respond, she went in.

Seras just barely made it to her room when she heard Walter's familiar footsteps emerge from the back door.


	7. Night Reaper

Author's Notes: And now, for Walter's true feelings. (Fixed some basic grammar mistakes. Enjoy.)

Disclaimer: If you sue me, you'll have to sue everyone on this website. Good fucking luck.

* * *

><p>Walter just barely crossed the threshold when he received a message from Herr Major, demanding that he come to his office at once to receive his next assignment. He snapped it off with frustration. The fatass couldn't bother to tell him while he was still out in the field? He really had to wait till he got home?<p>

While it would have been more efficient to head straight out, as he was standing right next to the door, Walter instead hurried upstairs to Seras' room. He had been worrying about her all day, and had been frantic to get back to her ever since she lied about the window being open. It simply wasn't like Seras, and he naturally feared the worst.

It seemed for a moment as though his fears were confirmed when he burst into her room and she was not there. Then he noticed her coffin was closed. He lifted the lid and found her dead in her nightware. They were not the blue plaid pajamas he was used to. Rather, a tight red nightie that hugged her every curve, with a short skirt that exposed her smooth, supple, pale thighs. Her long black wig removed that her short, messy, blonde hair stuck out in all its glory. Her large, childlike eyes closed in sleep. Her beautiful face was still as death.

He wanted to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek.

"Seras, are you awake?"

A fraction of his concern and… feelings toward her had crept into his voice, and it was a fraction too much. He suspected that she was not truly asleep, or that she had not slept as long as she pretended, and yet he did not think he could fully hide his… regard for her at present, and so decided to leave her be. There wouldn't be enough time for questions anyway.

Across town, Walter entered the Major's office in a foul mood.

The fatass's insufferable lieutenants were there. How perfect.

Walter carelessly slammed the medical box onto the Major's desk, not even caring if either of them scratched.

Mockery in three… two…

"Well, who ordered pizza?" Jan shouted, "I could sure go for a SLICE!"

"Hmph, never too depressed for a dramatic entrance," Luke smirked.

How predictably droll.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Why, yes, now that you haf mentioned it…" The Major smirked, the light reflecting off his glasses. "I haf your new assignment…"

"Hot off the meat truck!" Jan cried.

"Jan, that was tame for you," Luke said.

"Fuck, you're right: Hot off the burning dick."

"That's more like it."

"Is there a reason why you couldn't phone me this target?" Walter asked.

"Why, yes, now that you haf asked…" the Major smirked, ever coy with his information. Walter often wanted to smack the smirk off his smug face. "This is a job of special importance… it is involving a MillenniCo employee. A singer we all know…"

"The has-been leader of Hellsing!" Rip cried.

"A traitor to MillenniCo!" Jan said.

"You would know all about traitors, wouldn't you, Walter?"

"You are more qualified than anyone to take care of her!"

"Tonight is her last show!"

"I can't afford a scandal here!"

"I will set an example here."

"Take her down!" they all said.

Walter's stomach lurched with despair like that which he had not known for 17 years.

"But her eyes…" he said, thinking of how much hatred, contempt, and betrayal they held.

"Are MillenniCo's!" the Major interrupted, smirking. "I know this may seem hard…"

"Integra was my master," Walter interrupted him.

"Yes, und you sold her out!" Rip squealed.

"You gave her life in exchange for Seras'!"

"'Chutpah' is killing one's parents and then crying mercy for being an orphan," Luke smirked.

"I am well aware," Walter said, but his voice cracked.

Integra was once a woman of such passion, fire, drive, command and authority that the very King of Vampires voluntarily made her his master. She was a woman of such an iron will that she successfully lead the organization that had protected England for nearly a century, starting when she was a child. And, though it had taken decades of ceaseless torture and despair, Millennium had broken her will.

Walter turned to go, but Jan pushed him back.

"You break my fucking heart!" Jan shouted.

"You can… reunite them!" Luke said.

"They won't go to the same place," Walter sneered, and flicked Luke's hand off his shoulder like it was dandruff.

"You can put her out of her misery!" Rip piped up.

"She's such a washed-up old hag that it's probably for the best."

"She'll probably pull up her hair to make the job easier."

"I will not do this job," Walter said firmly, and walked away.

"Is that the best you've got, _boy_?"

Walter froze. It was the first time anyone had called him _boy_ in half a century. The same night when…

"Must I remind you who started this?" Herr Major asked.

"You don't need to remind me who started this," Walter said calmly.

He remembered being a cocky, 14-year-old boy standing atop the fatass's dinner table.

"Need I remind you who started this conquer?" the Major said.

"You need not remind me who started this conquer."

He remembered the looks of shock and horror from everyone he knew, within Hellsing and Iscariot, when they saw their wrinkled, benign butler standing before them; young, cruel and nonchalant.

"Need I remind you who turned the tide of battle?"

"You need not remind me who turned the tide of battle."

Years of leaking information to Millennium, crippling Hellsing's defenses, wiping out Hellsing's forces, wiping out the population of London, helping to wipe out Alucard… only to wipe out Seras with him.

"That dark fateful night, when you turned on all those in your life!" the Major cried.

The looks of shock and hatred from Integra… horror and disbelief from Seras…

"It's too painful," the Major smirked.

Walter grimaced and turned away from him, trying to repress the memories.

"Alucard was past saving…"

Alucard was past defeating…"

The look of Alucard fading with the rising sun, as his many thousands of eyes slowly closed.

"Und Seras was slipping

"Seras was slipping…"

The unbridled look of terror on Seras' face as she became increasingly transparent, her body filling with countless closing eyes...

"She needed sure help, while I needed skilled hands, so I fixed things…"

The image of Seras' dried up corpse sprawled on his lap. The image of the Captain, Doktor and Major looking down on him with guns. They would destroy her body so she could never come back, unless Walter swore fealty to them.

"We made an agreement…"

"I will honor that agreement…"

The look of her dried up corpse being tied and placed in a stone sarcophagus, just as Alucard's dried up corpse had been placed in the concrete basement of the Hellsing mansion, long ago. The image of the contract he signed in blood. The new set of gloves and wires placed on the desk. The look of his new adult hands; fixed in the Dok's patch-up surgery.

And then Seras was awakened after decades of slumber by a common grave robber. The look of this shriveled old lady, screaming and writhing in her own blood and zydrate, turning translucent as dozens of eyes closed around her. The lizard grin of the Doktor, holding a vile of pills right next to a pile of fail safes to place in Walter's body.

Presently, the Major grabbed Walter's shoulders and said, "You'll do as you're told…"

"… So Seras never knows," Walter concluded.

Millennium stood ready to accept Seras into their fold, and Walter willingly went under the knife to keep them from her. She was as innocent as a newborn lamb and needed to be kept hidden from the wolves. She remained as sweet and friendly as ever, and grew to adore him with unbridled affection. He grew to love the light in her eyes, the sweetness of her smile, and the soft cool touch of her hand on his.

"About your sins of old," the Major said.

He remembered how Integra screamed and spat and cursed his name for years on end. He remained strung up by his own wires for years, forced to listen to every sick and creative way that Jan though to torture and violate her body; to every disgusting experiment the Doktor thought to practice on her flesh when Mina's bones had long run dry; to every soul-crushing speech the Major made her listen to as they made the world burn within her earshot.

"Or my current reaper life," Walter said.

Integra had glared such hate at him when she had eyes to see. 'Angel of Death? Nay, you are a demon from hell. 'Angel.' What a farce. You are a traitor, assassin, murderer, and monster.' 'Butcher, villain, demon. Nothing more.' 'The deepest circle of Hell is reserved for traitors and mutineers. I only pray those you are sent there soon.'

"Don't deny your reaper life," the Major said.

If he did, Millennium would collect Seras in an instant. It was too late for Integra, who was long violated in every sense of the word since they stripped her life, her eyes, her virginity, her dignity, her integrity… Nay, it was too late for her. It was not too late for Seras though. Seras could still be saved…

Slowly, Walter put on his gloves.

"My Lady, I am so sorry. I know you cannot forgive me for this…"

The Major and lieutenants laughed.

"Not the Night Reaper with the hungry scythes!" the Major exclaimed as they shoved him into a giant meat locker with repossessed human bodies strung up in chains. "Now, here ist Mein Doktor's prognosis: will they live?"

"Doubtful," the Doktor smirked, the light shining on his optometrist glasses.

"Nein, nein, nein!" Rip cried, strutting into the freezer. "Think of it this way… you are, eh… Street Physician, carving flesh sculptures!"

"Yes, he'll paint their blood like a Rembrandt!" Luke smirked.

To Jan's confused look, he said, "What? You don't get that?!"

"Better start praying when you see him coming!" the Major grinned, reclining in his remote-controlled sofa. He clicked a button, and a large object covered in a thick sheet rolled forward, just in front of Walter. Jan stepped beside the objects.

"'Cause tonight it's curtains!" he exclaimed, ripping the sheet off.

A young man with tan skin, long blond hair and blue eyes was tied to a wheel chair; a defaulter to practice on.

"You're the Night Reaper!" they all exclaimed.

"_Remember what you are..." _they all chanted.

"I remember..." Walter said mournfully.

He was a traitor, barely worth the bullet it would take to deal his punishment.

"_Remember what you did to your master_," several genterns sang as they strolled in with the surgical cart.

"_Remember who you are..."_ they all chanted.

"I remember…" Water said calmly.

"_Remember what you did to her_!" the taunting genterns all exclaimed.

"I remember!" Walter shouted aggressively.

The genterns got out the new wires and passed it to the lieutenants, who passed them to Walter.

"See your wires," the Major said.

"See 'em glide!" Rip cooed.

"See 'em slice!" Jan smirked.

"Now _there_ is your Night Reaper," Luke said to the tied up man.

The man tied to the wheel chair screamed into his gag and tried to struggle free.

"Hope you have my money!" the Major smirked from his recliner, swirling a glass of champagne.

"Or it's 'Bon Voyagee!'"

"He'll wipe your ass like dishes!" Jan screeched.

"Am-pu-ta-tion!" they all exclaimed, and they continued to taunt Walter as he slowly looked up.

"_**Remember who you are..."**_ they chanted, over and over again.

Eventually, Walter looked straight, his eyes skyward.

"_I remember…"_ he murmured, "_Every dying whisper…"_

"Assassin!" "Murderer!" "Traitor!" Butcher!" "Monster!"

"_Every desperate murmur..."_

"Why in God's name don't you just hang yourself?! Do everyone in existence a favor!"

"_I remember when I gaze upon her…"_

"Why don't you just die?!" she had screamed, her eyes filled with blood, her bone-thin wrist hand-cuffed to the metal pipe in the dirty boiler room. The only way to remove it would be to use the silver saw beside her, but she would not give Millennium the satisfaction. And so she was gnawed on by ghouls, and groped by lonely soldiers.

"_She looks just like you..."_

Sallow, wrinkled, starved, and dressed in naught but dirty, tattered rags; gang-raped by Jan's ghouls.

"_I remember__!_" he shouted suddenly, as though to drive away the memories with his words, _"I remember!"_

His countenance changed almost immediately. All the emotions drained away like water from the land for a tidal wave, and he was left void of feeling.

"_I remember every victim with acute precision..."_ he said with deathly calm, and flexed his fingers.

"_I remember every time I hold you, my loyal companions..."_ he said to the wires, and they flicked out.

"_Because a traitor values nothing more than what he lacks!"_ Walter cried out, and the wires flew forward.

The man tied to the chair burst in a fountain of blood as his limbs flew off piece by piece.

"_Because the sociopathic give no anesthetic!"_ Walter shouted, and flung the wires forward again and again, tearing and ripping and tearing and ripping away.

"_Ninety days delinquent gets your Reaper treatment!_

_I'm the hidden horror on your street corner!_

_Make your momma mourn you! _

"_I'm the __**Night Reaper**__!"_

The Major laughed maniacally.

Walter paused, and looked upon the river of blood that flowed under his feet.

"_I remember..."_

Years ago, Seras alone did not believe his treachery was by his own volition.

"Walter!" she had cried, "What on earth did _they_…?!"

"'What did _they'_?" he had said at the time. "I _**was**_captured, _**was**_ turned into a vampire, _**was**_ brainwashed, and sadly, am _being_ **forced** to fight against my former employer. Or if I answered thusly… would it satisfy you, _**Seras**_?"

He had scorned her at the time. Seras truly believed that he was a good man that did not turn of his own will? She was a sweet girl who saw the best in people, no matter the darkest of times. He had thought her foolish at the time, but now… After everything that had happened… After all they had been through…

"I won't ask 'What happened?' or 'Why?'" Integra had said at the time, "You have now become my enemy. **Hellsing's **enemy! **Britain's** enemy! And there is no going back! You must be defeated! You must be destroyed!"

He had thought there was no going back, either. Once a traitor, always a traitor. Once he had turned on them, they would never let him back in. Might as well go all out. Might as well lose himself in the role he had chosen for himself, as much as he could. It was all he was. All he could ever be. All he _would_ ever be.

And yet…

Seras had cried, "Walter…! Sir!"

She had then squirmed under his empty glare, but persisted in saying what she wanted anyway.

"… Um…" she fumbled, "th-this might be an odd thing to say, but… well…!"

She straightened up, and said earnestly, "Thank you for everything, until now! _**Take care!**_"

Walter was surprised to hear it from her, at the time. Everyone reviled his name, and she alone forgave him; remembered him for all of the good he had done in her life, until that point, and he had known her for far less time than any of the others… If he had met her sooner… if he had known people like her…

Her words sunk through his cold exterior, and melted his heart.

"You too," he had murmured.

For her sake, he would try to be a fraction of the man she believed him to be. He would make the choice to do better this time, however small it may be. He would refuse Millennium, as she had believed he had refused them long ago. He would afford his master the last shred of dignity he could offer; the last scrap of loyalty he could muster. He had taken so much from her, but he would not take her life. He would not snuff out her light.

Walter dropped his wires, and walked away.

"Walter?!" the Major shouted, aghast.

"I will not do this job," he said out loud, "Find someone else."

The Major was scandalized. He had always been able to manipulate Walter into doing whatever he wanted.

"No one walks away from me! Walter!"

He slammed the door behind him.


	8. Chase the Morning

Author's Notes: And now, the song that made me decide to write this fic in the first place. (Fixed grammar errors.)

Disclaimer: I have no copywrite authority to any of these intellectual properties.

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><p>Outside the old Hellsing Mansion, a limousine pulled up in front of the wrought-iron gate. Seras pulled the curtains back to see who it was, for they never had visitors. She saw the driver (a woman dressed as Lady Antoinette) open the passenger's door for a swarthy woman in a hooded black dress. Seras gasped and ducked under the window when she realized it was Lady Hellsing!<p>

Integra, for her part, hesitated before the old mansion. Such an old mansion… so many memories… all of them painful… Years of her unhappy life surfaced in her mind like hot spring water over a layer of winter ice, and she felt as though she would melt. Nostalgia and heartbreak welled in her chest, and part of her wished to turn back. She turned back toward the darkness.

The guard dressed as Lady Antoinette cocked her shot gun; a reminder, as well as a warning.

Slowly, Lady Hellsing turned toward the mansion. There was still one small light that shown in the darkness, and she was determined to help it grow before she embraced her own abyss.

She rang the intercom.

"Seras…? Are you Seras?"

Seras scrambled to pick the lock to her room, so she could answer the door.

"Can I talk to you?"

Seras threw her door open and ran for the control panel in the hall.

"Could you come down please? So we can speak."

Seras slammed the button so that the front gates swung open, and Integra sauntered through.

"I saw you at the show. I thought I'd seen a ghost…" Integra lowered her hood to get a better look at Seras, who watched her timidly from the other side of the window of the front door. "Your resemblance is striking… You have your master's eyes, his hair; I was told you died with him…"

"How did you know about my master?" Seras demanded.

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what?!"

"How he served me long ago."

"Is that so?"

"I wish this day had come faster... How do I put this? … I'm your… master!"

A flood of emotions overtook Seras. Surprise and joy that her idol had come to visit, ecstasy that her idol claimed to know her and her master, confusion of how this was so when even her butler never mentioned it, burning curiosity to learn more, fear and mistrust since her role model was a registered vamp, and even paranoia that her lady was sent to say these things since Seras earlier fled Millennium.

"… State your business," Seras finally settled on.

"Business?"

"What do you want?!"

"I want, I want to finally meet you," Integra said, walking forward, "Something real to cling to, leave you with the hope that you will go to, all I meant to; all I failed to. In you is a world of promise… We have both been kept in bondage," Integra said, clutching imaginary chains, "but you can learn from all my failures."

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," Seras demurred.

"Or let them through the gate?" Integra smirked.

"That either—a bit risk!"

"A big fence."

"A mistake!"

"A new friend," Integra smirked, and her eyes flashed like before.

Out of her glowing irises sprang a holographic projection of a young lady singing in a heavenly tone: _"Chase the morning… Yield for Nothing!" _However, the image was blurred by the glass of the window. Seras stepped forward cautiously. The image flickered and blurred as Integra blinked. Curiosity eventually won over, and Seras threw open the door before darting fearfully back up the stairs. Integra strutted forward with her arms outstretched, so that the floating holographic lady followed the Seras up the stairs.

The young lady was hauntingly beautiful, with moon white skin; long, silken black hair, and garnet-red eyes. She dressed in all white winter clothes of Russian nobility, including white gloves, scarves and a puffy white hat. She sang, _"Chase the morning…"_ in a slow and melancholic, yet hauntingly beautiful and powerful way.

When Seras spotted the pentagrams on the lady's white gloves, she cried: "Oh my God, Master?!"

The hologram faded.

Seras was beside herself. "How did you do that?!"

"Do what?" Integra asked calmly.

"That! … That eye thing."

"These eyes can do more than see," Integra smiled mysteriously, as they flashed again.

"I know—I mean… I've seen you sing."

"Where?!" Integra cried suddenly.

"… From out my window; I can see the world from there!" Seras scrambled to explain. Integra's face slowly melted into a pleased smile as Seras explained, "Name the stars and constellations. Count the cars, and watch the seasons."

"I wish we could have watched together," Integra said longingly, and reached an arm toward Seras.

"I can't have guests!" Seras cried, pulling back.

"Never?"

"Ever! If Walter found out that I'd been let out, or that you'd been let in…"

"Walter?"

"Yes, I mean… he's—he's been taking care of me."

"I see," Integra said, her eyes narrowed and averted.

"He's been watching over me for years," Seras said, almost in defense of him.

"So I see," Integra said critically, her eyes scanning the mansion as though it were a prison.

"You don't understand…" Seras began.

"Oh, I think I do," she said coldly, but then her expression softened when she looked again on Seras. "Oh, if only I had met you years ago…"

"I've admired you so," Seras said earnestly.

"For all the wrong reasons, I believe…" Integra said bitterly.

"Walter thinks so," Seras said, and then her eyes widened, and she scrambled to explain. "I-I mean, I think you're the most amazing thing…"

"But?"

"... But he says you're a registered vampire..." Seras choked out, her face the very picture of misery and apology. She looked as though she wanted to cry, and clutched handfuls of her skirt with her fists. Her face seemed to scream, "I'M SORRY!"

"Is that so?" Integra averted her eyes to hide the pain behind them. Once again, Walter had cut her to the quick. How many other lies was he feeding this girl? How would he react to her when he found her there? "I should go, then," she said, turning to leave, but then whirled around to face Seras with renewed vigor. "Before I do,_ promise me you won't_…"

"Better that you don't…!" Seras cried, thinking Integra intended to confront Walter.

"Don't accept the cure," Integra warned.

"But if I don't…!" Seras cried, gesturing to her weak, one-armed body.

"I know, dear."

"I'll be weak…"

"You're stronger than anyone I know," Integra smiled.

"But I'm just…!" Seras cried, close to tears.

"You'll understand with time," Integra said, calmly and kindly.

"Maybe you're right…" Seras sighed, casting her tearful eyes upward, "Maybe it's best if I resume my life inside my bedroom."

"Don't forget," Integra said at the time same, "that a moonlit rose needs a little room to bloom outside her tomb!"

Seras was silent; deeply touched and confused by Integra's words.

Almost in response, Integra reactivated the hologram of the young girly Alucard singing, _"Chase the morning… Yield for nothing! … Chase the morning… Yield for nothing!" _Seras hesitantly approached the image this time. Love and reverence swelled in her heart, as did shadows of memories long since past. She tried to touch the lady, and then pulled back when it clinked like glass. Her master always rebuked her when she tried to touch; this beautiful, dangerous, mocking creature that held her heart but scorned her love. Seras could almost remember a time when she and this beautiful creature shared a bond more profound than any emotion in the world.

But… how could she follow in her master's footsteps? Seras was as weak as a human girl. How could she do anything…?

Seras went to return to her room when Integra closed her eyes and sang. _"Let your life be a dream… Integrity. Honesty. It's too late for me…"_ Integra sang, casting her eyes down in despair. When she raised them up again, they were glowing with renewed hope, _"But you? Don't look back, till you're free to chase the morning!"_

The beautiful young lady with eyes that revered the sun appeared right in front of Seras and sang, _"Yield for nothing! … Chase the morning… Yield for nothing!"_

Seras stood before the young lady for a long time, with her eyes full of love and her hand over her heart.

'_Like an arrow from a fully drawn bow…'_ Seras thought, a memory lightening her mind like the emerging sun lightening the sky for the emerging dawn, _'Without regard even for the light of day… I shall fly towards the dead city… a dawn dispatch."_

It was always what her master saw before he died… The image of this beautiful young lady, with pale skin and black hair, revering the dawn… Seras' bond with her master allowed her to remember a time when he thought, this was what he saw when he died… and time after time he thought… he never knew… he never knew the sun's light was so beautiful…

Seras looked from the image of her master to the presence of her master. Integra smiled knowingly, and she and the image of the lady hovered for a moment. Integra slowly walked backwards as the hologram of Alucard remained where she was. Integra slowly spread her arms as though to fly, and Alucard faced Seras before crying one last time: _**"Yield for nothing!"**_

The music twined to a close, and Integra lowered her arms as the holograph flickered off like a light.

Seras slowly roused from her reverie—to see Walter standing right behind Integra!

Seras' emerging memories snapped off like a light as she gasped and darted behind the wall.

Integra turned around to find Walter glaring right at her.

"Hello, Walter."

He stood rigid as a stone. "Integra, how did you get in here?"

"I could ask you the same question," she said icily. This was, after all, _her_ mansion. How he got his hands on it, and how he got past the guard she left posted outside, did not cease to amaze her. Neither did his refusal to answer, nor his eyes averting hers.

"Don't you have a show tonight?" he asked.

"How are you, Walter?" she asked, reveling in her power to make him writhe.

"Busy," he said, and brushed past her.

She remembered all too well all what she used to have and all that she lost because of him. She remembered all too well the many years of torture, violation, humiliation and suffering she endured because of him. She that knew what shreds of humanity he had left was ashamed and horrified by the outcome of his actions. Rather than pitying him on account of his humanity, she hated him and reviled him all the more. She used it to make him suffer for everything he put her through. He wilted before her smoldering glare like a flower in the sun, and she scorched him for all she was worth.

Without moving she said: "You never were a **man** of many words, Walt," knowing how her words cut him like a knife.

Never a man of many words, indeed. He was the _child_ that kept secrets from her, that leeched secrets to the enemy, and that kept secrets from her even now. He was the traitor that started form of a child of many years ago, and never grew or changed since.

She turned to face him, "You told me Seras **died**."

"Listen…" he whispered.

"**Walter**!" she snapped, "I went through years of _hell_ in this '_life_' because you assured me my servants died."

"Please, Integra!" he snapped, still avoiding her eyes. "Seras is very weak."

"How weak?"

"It's not safe for her to see people."

"Why is that?"

"She still has her master's blood."

"How is that-?"

"I need to give her her medication," Walter interrupted. His voice was so cryptic and dead that it gave even Integra pause.

She wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion.

At the word "medication," Seras suddenly thought of another "default remedy."

Walter went to walk up the stairs, but Seras emerged from the top.

"Walter!" she cried, "Please, let her stay in here!"

"No, she's leaving," he said firmly.

"Please hide her here!" Seras cried, walking down to Walter.

"From what?" he scoffed.

"She'll be dead!"

"She's a vampire, Seras."

"You don't understand!"

Integra reached a comforting hand to Seras, but Walter grabbed her arm. "Look, I told you she was sick," he snarled.

"Walter, you are hurting me," Integra said firmly.

"Walter?!" Seras cried. She had never seen him that angry or rough before, and she rushed to try to get him to let go.

"Look, my ward needs her rest," Walter said, pulling Integra toward the door.

"Walter, no!" Seras cried again, and tried to get him to let go of Integra's arm.

"I'll be fine, Seras, don't you fret!" Integra assured her.

"Repossessions are dangerous!" Seras said to Walter.

"Seras, go to bed."

"You're not safe!" she said to Integra.

"Seras…"

"Walter, she's not safe!"

"Now you've gone an upset her," Walter said to Integra.

"Walter, what has become of you?" Integra demanded as the three of them struggled against each other. "You've turned my home into her tomb!"

"This has nothing to do with you," he snapped.

"Walter, please don't send her to her doom!" Seras cried.

"This has nothing to do with me or you," he said.

"Alucard would be ashamed to see this from you," Integra said.

The three continued to struggle, all talking at once, until Walter pried Seras away and shoved Integra out the door.

"Set her free!" Integra cried as Walter shoved her out.

"Please don't leave!" Seras cried as Walter slammed the door.

"Come back!" Seras cried, banging on the door and trying to touch Integra's hands through the glass.

"Keep it down, Seras."

"**Come back!"** she cried louder, slamming harder on the door.

"Come Seras, it's late," Walter grabbed her wrist and pulling her toward the stairs.

"Walter, I'm fine!" Seras cried, lugging her entire body weight toward the door.

"It's late," he repeated calmly, easily dragging her up the stairs.

"She will die!"

"Nonsense."

"It's her eyes, Walter!"

"Nonsense!"

"It's a contract!" Seras cried, suddenly breaking away from his grip and running up the stairs.

"A contract?" he cried.

"Come and see!" she cried.

"Nonsense!" he dismissed.

"Come and see! Lady Hellsing's in trouble, Walter."

Seras darted into her room, grabbed the magazine Rip gave her and presented it to Walter.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

Instead, Seras pointed to the text. "Read it, Walt, an Angel of Death will come and take her eyes!"

He stared at it for a moment, and then calmly set it aside.

"There are things in life that we do best to leave alone," he said simply, and walked away.

"She'll die! You must help her, Walt!"

"That's beyond our control," he said.

"**She'll die! **You must stop her, Walt."

"That's something you don't want to know."

He tried to shut her bedroom door, but Seras held it open with her good arm.

"Please, Walt!" she cried, looking him in the eye. "Won't you save Integra?"

He averted his eyes and walked away. For the first time in 17 years, shutting the door wouldn't work on Seras. The timid and submissive little girl that always complied with his wishes was being overtaken by the justice-loving police girl, and the brave Draculina.

And she wasn't finished either, as Seras followed him down the hall to argue further. "She will lose her life unless you stop this Angel of Death!"

"Seras!" he snapped, turning to face her. "This is senseless!"

"But you have to try!" she shouted.

"This is pointless!" he shouted, slamming the magazine down.

"You can't let her die!"

"Please, **SHUT UP!**"

They stared at each other in stunned silence.

Seras stared at Walter in shock and disbelief. Not only was this the first time he had ever raised his voice to her, but it was also the first time he had blatantly refused to do anything she considered brave or heroic. He often told her of the progress he made infiltrating Millennium, and promised to take some of her advice to heart, even if he said he doubted it would work. But now, for the first time, they were confronted with a real victim of Millennium that they could help, and he told her absolutely "no."

Seras looked at him like he was a stranger.

"Who are you?" she whispered, and stormed away from him.

Walter stared after her with pain. It was the same horror and rejection he experienced when he revealed himself as a traitor years ago.

For her part, Seras stormed into her room, slammed the door, and threw herself into her coffin with a huff. 'Fine,' she thought, 'I'll find a way to help her myself!'

Walter slowly opened her door and walked in.

"Seras," he said softly, "you must understand…"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," she huffed. "You just don't want to help someone when it puts _you_ at risk."

"I'm already risking a great deal by hiding you."

"So what's one more?!" Seras cried. "They don't know I'm here, so they won't know about Integra!"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple."

"Why not?! You said they trust you over there."

"They do…" he faltered, looking away.

"So why can't you use your job to avoid suspicion?"

"Everyone is under suspicion in the Nazi regime, Seras," he said.

"Not me!" Seras said.

"You're not working for Millennium, Seras."

"But I can help!" Seras cried, standing up.

_"Seras…"_ he said sternly, yet tenderly. He knelt before her, and placed his hands in her lap. "Your master's death taught me to accept that nothing ever lasts in this world."

Seras pushed his hands away and walked to the other side of the room.

"Foolish dreams have destroyed the mightiest of warriors…"

Seras didn't respond. She remained with her back to him and her arms crossed.

"What chance has a vampire weak as a human girl?"

Seras sneered and turned to face him.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said sarcastically. "Helping you stop the Nazi regime? Well, that's just girlish dreaming!"

Walter's eyebrows furrowed. He didn't know where this was going.

"I can't possibly do anything because I'm just weak as human being…!"

Walter glared.

"So why did my master say it's always humans that defeat monsters?!"

"Oh, here we go," Walter scoffed.

"You're the one that said my master always talked of humans defeating vampires!"

"Your master was also defeated by Millennium, I hope you remember."

"That's because they're monsters, not men!"

"The repossession body count begs to differ," Walter asked. Most of the victims were humans by a registered vampire.

"Then it's because my master got cocky and greedy," Seras said, not letting up. "Either way, I'll be careful, Walter!"

"Seras, we're done talking about this."

"No, we're not! Why do you _always_ decide what we can talk about?!"

"Because I'm the one running this house."

"You don't have to! That's my point!"

"**Seras**…"

"If you'd just let me try to help you, we can stand up to Millennium together!"

"And what would you do?" Walter sneered.

"I…" she faltered.

"Just as I thought."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Seras cried. "You _never_ let me try to help!"

"That's because I know you'll fail."

"How do you know I'll fail if you never let me try?!"

"Seras, trust me…"

"No! For seventeen years you've always said, 'Seras, stay in your coffin,' 'Seras, stay in your room,' 'Stay hidden.' How am I supposed to learn to help you fight against Millennium if you won't teach me how to fight?"

"Seras, the way you can help is to stay out of sight—"

"—But I've done that already!"

"—So I don't have to worry about you," Walter concluded, taking her hands and smiling fondly.

Seras' eyes widened as she allowed his words to sink in.

For a moment, Seras looked like she understood, until she broke out, "But what about Lady Hellsing?!"

Walter scoffed and dropped her hands. "For the last time, there's nothing we can do for her!"

"How do you know unless you try?!"

And round and round in circles they went. Years of unaddressed arguments came boiling to the surface as Seras challenged every excuse that Walter ever gave her. The nights of Seras wilting under Walter's pointed glare or sharp tongue were over, and she kept arguing passionately on Integra's behalf. Walter also lost his patience and shouted right back.

"Seras, that's enough!"

"I'm a true vampire! Why can't you see it?"

Tempers rose and passions flared. In the heat of the argument, Walter couldn't help noticing how… hot Seras looked when she was angry. No longer the timid, submissive, cowering little girl that hung on his every word, she stood before him as a strong young woman with opinions of her own. He loved the fire in her eyes, the passion in her voice; the flush of her cheeks.

The moment of truth was arriving. Walter was so infuriated that he could smack her, or…

"I don't care if you approve or not, Walter!" Seras shouted, "I'm going to help Sir Integra one way or another!"

Walter reached out and kissed her on the mouth.

When he broke away, Seras was staring in blank shock. Her eyes were wide, her lips were parted, and her fingers absently touched her face.

Walter was panting with the effort not to devour her. Years of repressed emotions compelled him to step forward, grab her face and kiss her with renewed fire. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other slid down and clutched her waist, and, as her lips parted, he kissed her more deeply. He dug his fingers into her messy hair, cupped her lower back and pulled her torso toward him so that her large, soft, supple breasts pressed against his chest. The soft pressure ignited his hunger further and he kissed her more deeply and ferociously.

He thought she consented, as he felt and heard no resistance from her, and her body seemed to open invitingly to his advances. But when he pulled back to kiss her at a better angle, she slipped from his grasp and darted to her room.

Seras slammed her door, and, after several moments, slowly sank to the floor.

Walter knew that he had broken something between them. It was worse than if he had hit her.

"S-Seras, I…" he stuttered, but it was too late.

Alone in her dark room, Seras buried her head in her knees and half-sobbed. Every muscle in her body was tensed as she sat rigid as a stone.

She ignored Walter's attempts at apologizing outside her door, as well as her teleband's attempts at reminding her of her medicine.

"Blood Pressure Warning.

Medicate Immediately.

Medicate Immediately."


	9. At the Opera Tonight

Author's Notes: I'm not going to be quoting "Happiness is Not a Warm Scalpel" or "Gold" word for word because it just doesn't fit Rip or the Major, the same way 17 didn't fit Seras. The same principles will apply though, so I'll be having them set up exposition for the Opera, same as the movie. Enjoy. (Also, reviews make the world go round.)

Disclaimer: I weave two copyrighted intellectual properties together like a chimera and you think I own either one?

* * *

><p>Back in the MillenniCo monolith, the Major was enjoying a pleasant dinner, as well as a bottle of the Doktor's finest. As always, it would have been a pleasant meal had one of his lieutenants not come bursting in with their latest squabbles or dramas. This time, it was Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle. This time, she was wearing a skimpy version of her old SS scout uniform with her hair bobbed and blonde, and her hat with a netted veil. The hat was tipped down and the hair ruffled so that it covered her face.<p>

After the obligatory siege heil, she said, "Mein Fuhrer, I request a patch-up surgery post-haste."

"Denied, Warrant Officer Rip Van Winkle," the Major sighed in a bored tone, before taking a large bite of his pork chops, "Your surgical privileges haf been cut off due to your excessive use of them. If you wish to get ready for the show, I suggest using the old-fashioned makeup."

"But makeup will not cover these surgical scars!"

"Well then, that ist too bad."

"I'll be the laughing stock of the stage!"

"Well then, that ist too bad," he repeated, biting into his sausage.

"Bitte, Mein Fuhrer, I need the surgery so that I may perform tonight!"

"Perhaps you should haf thought of _that,_ _before_ you slunk off to get an illegal procedure by a back-alley surgeon."

"I thought he knew what he was doing!"

"Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle, how dare you speak to the Fuhrer so!" the Doktor interrupted, as he always did. After he scolded her for not showing their Fuhrer the proper respect that he deserved, he said, "I warned you about this! Happiness is not a warm scalpel!"

"I don't care! I just want to look fair!" she cried, and flung herself against a nearby wall, sobbing violently.

The Major and Doktor rolled their eyes at each other, and the Doktor tried to reason with her. No amount of cajoling got through to Rip though, as she slumped against the mirror with her face down. Because she was a vampire, there was no reflection.

"Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle, you are one of the three most powerful vampires in the world, right below Dur Fuhrer himself. It ist time for you to start acting like it!"

"But I am a lady too…" she sobbed.

"We have obtained the life that we had strived for, for over half a century! Und yet, with all this power, you squander it all on petty fashion und makeup!"

"YOU made me the head of the fashion district…"

"Dur Fuhrer gave you the job he felt you were most qualified to advertise."

"I looked like a plain, geeky little lass…"

The Major was remarkably silent during their squabble. He just continued to eat and drink.

"You looked just fine, Rip Van," the Doktor said, "If you wanted a little touch-up, I could understand a fix-up surgery or two, but this…"

"Nein! You could not understand any of it!" Rip screeching, flinging her head toward them like a ragdoll's; her hair and hat still covering her face. "You were not a plain little girl with freckles, huge braids und glasses too big for your face long after girlhood was gone! You did not join the military filled with soldiers who laughed und jeered as they vent out with two blondes on each arm!"

"Lieutenant…" Herr Major said in a warning tone.

"You were not a swarthy little Czech growing up in Nazi Deutschland…"

"That hardly matters now…"

"Nein? That's easy for you to say!" Rip cried, gesturing wildly to the two blond-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian men, "You fit the Arian Ideal down to the specks!"

"I would be mindful of where you throw accusations like that, Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle," the Major said amiably, "For we haf never held that against you, even once…"

"But, Herr Major…!" Rip Van whined, squirming like a distressed child under his critical eye.

"I promoted all based on their merit on the field, not the color of their pigment," the Major said, "I even recruited that bull dyke, Zorin Blitz."

"I don't want to look like her!" she screeched.

"You've had over a thousand surgeries in the last fifty years!" the Doktor snapped.

"I just need a little bit more!"

"You said that ten years behind," the Major finally retorted, "When will you finally pick one you like?"

At his nod, the Captain grabbed Rip Van's shoulders and whirled her around. The Doktor and Major's eyes widened in horror. The Doktor's jaw dropped. The Major choked on his sausage. Hearing that his Fuhrer was in distress, the Doktor cried out in panic and rushed to save him from choking to death (as he still had a human body). As the two struggled with the Heimlich maneuver, Rip stared at them with a pained expression as though to say, "I told you it was that bad." With one firm pat on the back, the Captain easily dislodged the meat stuck in the Major's throat.

"I'll have one of my surgeons fix you up so you can sing… tonight," the Major gasped as soon as he had breath to speak.

"Oh, really?!" Rip cried with joy, leaning toward them, "Oh, _Dankeschön_, Mein Fuhrer!"

"Just—go!" he said, waving her away.

The Major had sat through countless gory battle fields and massacres in his life, yet _this_ was what made him choke on his dinner.

"Ja, Mein Fuhrer!" Rip cried. She sieged heil, and then skipped out of his office, giddy as a school girl.

It was the first time she had skipped or danced around like that since before she was eaten by Alucard.

"Well…" the Doktor said as they watched her go, "She seems to be more like her cheerful old self."

"Feh, she's weak," the Major scoffed, and turned back to his dinner.

"Was?"

"Vampire blood ist cheap… Inconsistent, consistently…"

"Mein Fuhrer?"

"Ever since she vas taken by Alucard, she never was the same…"

"Well, she was mixed with his millions of lives…"

"Exactly!" the Major exclaimed, clinking his glass with his fork. "She mixed her life essence with the thousands upon thousands of lives within the castle of the No-Life King; und lost her sense of self in the process."

"Too be fair, we did that to her too…" the Doktor began, but the Major was not listening.

"They all lost their sense of selves after they were mixed with Alucard's teeming millions, und they never were the same," the Major continued, "That ist why they are useless as heirs to mein empire, und why they shall not be promoted a peg. They do not know themselves, und so they will not inherit mein soul, mein life."

"Oh, here we go…" the Doktor mumbled under his breath.

Even the Captain, who otherwise did not move a single muscle on his face or body, rolled his eyes.

"The life of souls assimilated through the currency of blood… It must be magnificent. I'm sure it ist wonderful. I haf no doubt it must be delightful… but it ist not for me. Even as sit here dying, eating mein last meal, I am me. Mein heart, mein soul, mein life, mein empire… they are mein und mein alone. No one else's. Do not cry for me, Doktor, for I do not fear death. I have lived a long und weary life, seeking wars to fight in, to die in. Ultimately succeeding, ultimately failing. Nein, I do not fear death. I shall leave this world just as I entered it: as meinself. Und I shall not pass on mein own life's work to someone who dost not know themselves as I know mein."

The Doktor was wise not to point out that the Major had undergone the same life-altering surgeries that he scorned for others. When his first body was shot and beaten to shit, he underwent many surgeries to stay alive. When his body failed, his brain was then placed in a jar and hooked up to wires attached to a mechanical body. Then, when machines of his second body started to rust and fail, his brain was placed in a synthetic body made from synthetic organs… organs which the Doktor could not have created without the research done to create the synthetic vampires.

"… You shall be very hard-pressed to find someone who hast not altered themselves in some way, in this day und age…" the Doktor murmured out loud, instead. "The mass organ failure has ensured that all haf taken organs or blood that ist not their own…"

"Jawol, that ist why we pursue Seras Victoria," he said, and clicked his remote.

The giant monitors in his circular control chamber clicked to a close-up of Seras Victoria. She was witting on her bedroom floor, with her back to the wall, her head buried in her knees, and her hands clutching her hair. Her muscles were tensed, and she was stone-still. She did not move when Walter grabbed her elbow and tried to make her stand. When he yanked harder, she sprawled out on the ground, deathly pale, ashen-faced, and turning sea-through.

"Magnificent, ist she not?"

"… Jawol…" the Doktor wisely said.

"She ist a vampire, yet not a vampire," the Major continued, as Walter hurriedly lifted her into his arms. "She hast been sheltered from this life, so she does not know the fashion of surgery. She must deny the souls, the lives in others' blood to sustain her own existence. True, she drank her master's blood in her past life, but he must burn away presence of his life to maintain her own. Seras ist only Seras."

"She ist very weak though," the Doktor said, as they watched Walter hurriedly hooking her up to an IV filled with medicated blood. He had done such a thing before.

For a girl so sick, she really was inconsistent with her medication. "That was a close one," the Doktor said to the Captain, who then tallied it on a clipboard. They had an on-going bet of how long before Seras finally disappeared into the land beyond numbers.

"That ist why we must test her mettle," the Major said, "If she can pass our tests, und purge herself of the scourge of her master's blood… und shake herself of the side-effects of her medication… then she can truly become a girl worthy to be mein heir, a vampire worthy to be mein enemy. Through her, we shall engage in one last battle, one last war… und the winner shall inherit mein empire."

"Let the games begin," the Doktor said, and the Major laughed.

Back at the Hellsing mansion, Seras lay sprawled in her coffin, weak from anemia and another dangerously late medicine dosage. Walter could not believe he had been forced to unlock her door and hook her up to an IV when she was too drained to move… again. She lay passed out, first in his arms and then in her coffin. He sat at the edge of her coffin and kept a hand on her wrist, to make sure she remained solid. From her wrist band sprang the hologram of the Major.

"Seras, mein fine Doktor hast finished concocting your cure. Tonight, all will be revealed. See you at the opera," and he laughed as the message turned off.

Walter felt as though he had been stabbed by a cold knife.

"So Montana thinks he can take Seras…" he glowered.

"… Walter?" Seras murmured, slowly coming to.

"Nothing, Seras, nothing; get some rest," he said distantly, and rose to prepare her oral dose.

As he mixed the concoction, Seras slowly curled into a crouched position on her side. An awkward silence lay between them.

"Why didn't you tell me Lady Hellsing was our master?" she asked in a flat tone.

"Hmm? What are you on about now, Seras?" he asked distractedly, handing her the glass of blood and walking toward the door.

Seras didn't look at him. She slowly drank her glass of medicated blood, and shuddered.

After a moment's pause, Walter's eyes jerked toward the door. Something was very wrong.

"Wait here, Seras," he said, and walked out of her room.

He followed the sound of scuttling down to the stairs, through the secret passage, and into his private catacomb. He could not see anyone in the darkness, but he could hear the slight shuffle of ghoul feet. Right on cue, several beasts tried to fire at him. He easily dodged the bullets, and tore them to pieces with his wires.

Up in her bedroom, Seras listened to the recording of the Major. It seemed odd to accept his offer now since she had fled the carnival, but now things were different. She had someone else worth fighting for. Though Lady Hellsing had warned her against it, Seras just couldn't help her with this weak human body. Walter wasn't going to help, so she would just have to do it on her own. Perhaps if she signed a deal with Millennium… agreed to be their poster child in exchange for Integra's life? Or became strong as a true vampire so she could fight their forces in Integra's defense…? Either way, she could do something there where she could not here.

As the Major promised, bright lights shined in through her window, and she looked outside to see one of the zeppelins reading, "The limo is waiting outside."

Walter could sense that something was amiss. The Doktor had planted many fail safes in his body in case he ever turned traitor, but they had not activated them. Instead, they were sending common MillenniCops after him. Why?

"Seras!" he called, rushing back upstairs.

Seras dressed quickly and snuck out before he could reach her.

Walter burst into her room only to find it empty; the coffin open and Seras gone.

So, the fatass had enticed her with the promise of cure, and she was so unhappy being here with him that she ran to it? After everything he and MillenniCo had agreed? After all he and Seras had been through…? So this was what loyalty was worth these days?

"Tonight, I am betrayed."

Strange, being on the receiving end of a betrayal and not the giving end; is this what it felt like?

Walter was torn between two strong instincts. Keep Seras safe, for his mind raced with all the ways Millennium would hurt and use her. The other was to make the Major pay, for they had agreed to Seras' autonomy in exchange for Walter's loyalty. He had been loyal to them for years—obeying every order and complying with every condition—and the one time he said "no" they tried to take everything from him.

"Well, if that's the way they wanted to play…" he said, "I'll keep her safe and make the fatass pay on Alucard's grave… At the Opera tonight," and he walked briskly off.

The stage was set. The performers were getting ready for the curtain draw.

When Seras climbed into the limo, she received a message from Herr Major.

"Seras, this coat once belonged to your master. I would be most honored if you wore it to the Opera."

She snapped it off, and pulled up the box meant for her.

"_I must be brave…"_ she thought as she removed the ticket attached.

Inside the mansion, Walter threw the secret passage open with flare.

"_Come, come what may_…" she sang. For good or for ill, she was going to do this. She was going to try. Though she quaked with fear, Seras forced herself to think of Lady Hellsing, and the reason she was doing this. _"Can she be saved? Is there a way_?" Lady Hellsing had said to chase the morning, and Seras would yield for nothing. _"At the Opera tonight!"_

Inside the mansion, Walter was dressing in his best battle suit, and donning his best combat gloves.

Across the lonely graveyard, Integra walked among the graves in which her soldiers who were killed in the Valentine Brothers' attack were buried.

"_I've made my peace,"_ she said.

"_No chance for peace!"_ Walter cried.

"_I'll drop my grudge."_

"_I'll end this grudge!"_

"_I'm going to sing…!"_

"_I'll flood the streets…"_

"… _My final song!"_

"… _They'll rain with blood!"_

"_**At the Opera tonight!"**_ they both sang.

His face covered in shadows, Walter donned his monocle so that it gleamed with light.

Sparkling light reflected off the Chrystal chandeliers, gaudy jewelry and champagne glasses as rich people filed into their seats. Each one was dressed in their richest, most expensive, most fashionable clothes and organs. Inside several suspended cages over the seats, scantily clad scalpel sluts danced to keep the rich people entertained while they waited for the show to start.

The Grave Robber was lounging on a dumpster. Rip Van Winkle sauntered down the dirty alley toward him. When he saw her coming, he quickly ducked into the said dumpster, but too late. She stomped right up to him.

"One more hit for the show," she ordered, "Make it fast!"

"Take it slow," he murmured, holding out a cautioning hand.

"One more hit of the glow!" she screeched, and chucked a handful of coins at him.

He held out a glowing vial. _"Go get cut…"_

"_For tonight's show!"_ she sang as snatched it and stormed away.

In the operating room, the Major, Luke and Jan were all putting on their final touches to their uniforms.

"_Tonight, I set the stage!"_ Herr Major cried grandly.

"_Tonight we set the stage!"_ Jan twined.

"_My greatest play…"_ Herr Major cried.

"_My greatest face," _Luke's bragged.

"_And I'll get laid!"_ Jan leered, thrusting his hips back and forth.

"_**All debts are paid!"**_ they all sang, _"At the Opera tonight!"_

Deep in the catacombs, several MillenniCops tracked Walter down, including a few other so-called Angels of Death. "Freeze!" they called, but he easily outmaneuvered them. Wires flung out, wrapped around arms, shoulders, and necks, and he simply pulled back. Their limbs fell like trees and their necks rolled off their necks like stones on a hill.

"_Angel of Death…"_ Integra sang as she approached Alucard's grave with a red flower. _"Come take my eyes…"_

"_At the Opera tonight!"_ Rip screamed as she marched into surgery.

"_Angel of Death… My eyes…!"_ Integra sang into the night.

"_**At the Opera tonight!"**_ they all sang.

Later that night, the grave robber read about the upcoming opera in the tabloids. The articles exploded with gossip, rumors, and predictions of how the night would turn out. He scoffed at the petty topics of clothes, fashion, and musical numbers. He alone knew that there were far greater things at stake.

"_Blood bath,"_ he said to a few nearby scalpel sluts who were warming their hands in a trashcan fire, _"It's gonna be a blood bath. _

'_Cause the Major's dying quickly, and needs replaced by someone not corrupt or sickly. _

_The girl might make a worthy heir, but the Reaper Man will never let 'er go there. _

_Then the Angel Man cannot go where he wants to either, 'cause the Major will not suffer traitors._

"_Will Maxy clean house?"_ the grave robber asked, discarding the paper and hopping to his feet.

"_Damn, we're gonna find out! Stay tuned! _

_The winner of this blood feud…_

_will take MillenniCo."_


	10. Needle Through a Bug

Author's Notes: This chapter will include the mother of all deleted scenes from Repo: "Needle Through a Bug." I thought about skipping it since the scene is about Shilo getting tricked into extracting zydrate from her mother's corpse, and Alucard is in the land beyond numbers here; but it's such a great scene that I just HAD to include it!

Disclaimer: I don't know how I'm going to divvy up these chapters, so we'll see.

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><p>The limo drove up to an abandoned chapel in the graveyard. The driver, none other than the Fuhrer's terrifying right hand, wordlessly led her into the steeple. Seras stepped gingerly on the tips of her boots, looking around. The stone benches were covered with thick dust and cobwebs, and a few musky skeletons sat here and there on the seats. Seras shuddered. While dusty and moth-bitten, they were dressed in their best Sunday clothes.<p>

A blank wall stood behind the pulpit, and an overhead projector projected a video of the Major. The film was yellow and blotchy. Fittingly, the Major's eyes and smile were creepy enough for any haunted church. He stood, gestured, and talked grandly, like he was a priest giving a sermon.

"SERAS, THE PAST CAN BE DREADFUL!  
>THERE ARE THOSE WHO KEPT YOU IN THE DARK TO PROTECT YOU.<br>YOU'RE OLD ENOUGH, I THINK -  
>THOUGH THEY'D DISAGREE -<br>TO KNOW THE TRUTH,  
>AND CHOOSE WHO YOU WILL BE."<p>

Seras gulped.

"TO GET YOUR CURE,  
>YOU'LL NEED TO LIGHT UP THAT DARK PLACE.<br>THIS WEREWOLF HERE CAN HELP YOU 'DIG' THE WAY."

Seras cast a questioning look to her silent guide, but he only continued to stare at the screen.

"BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO EARN IT.  
>NOBODY DESERVES SHEISEN.<br>I WON MY LIEUTENANTS THE WORLD.  
>THEY REPAID ME BY DOING NOTHING WITHIN.<p>

Seras made a wry face and averted her eyes. She wasn't planning on doing much better with her cure, since she fully intended to either make a deal for Integra or fight against Millennium once they cured her human weakness.

"YOU'LL NEED TO BRING THE BURIED LIBERATION!

YOU'LL NEED TO BRING ILLUMINATION  
>TO THE SITUATION<br>IF YOU WANT. YOUR. CUUUURE!"

After that grand finale, the film ran blank.

Seras stared at it for a long time, and her guide didn't move.

Seras eventually looked around anxiously.

"So… uh… heh!" Seras grinned, trying awkwardly to make cheerful conversation. "So… he said something about… digging?"

The stoic soldier only lowered his chin in affirmation.

Seras looked around again, but couldn't find anything resembling a door or hole.

"Um… I don't suppose…" she stammered.

While his face didn't move, his tensed body gave Seras the strong impression that he thought she was being stupid. He walked forward, and Seras followed him as he made his behind the pulpit. Hidden from view by the pew, from where she had been standing, was a crumbling hole in the wall. Seras felt rather stupid for not finding it herself. The hole seemed just barely large enough to fit a person, and likely to collapse.

"Oh! Um… okay… So…" God, Seras wished he didn't stand there looking so big and menacing. "Th-the Major said you were going to help me dig…?"

The werewolf held up a common gardening trowel.

Seras stared, eyes wide and jaw dropped. "… Are you serious?!"

The werewolf nodded. Serious as the grave.

After a several seconds of staring, Seras took it. "Pulled out all the stops, didn't you?" she grumbled, and started chipping away at the loose rubble.

Above her, the Major appeared on the screen again.

"Oh, by the way," he said in a more normal tone, "I do not vish to alarm you, but there ist a time limit. I still expect you to be mein date for the opera (as per our original agreement) und the show starts in less than an hour. If you do not show up when the show starts… consider our deal off! Safe hunting!"

Seras yelped, and then stabbed, scraped, and clawed at the loose rubble around the edges faster. The werewolf just continued to stand there, looking down at her.

"You know, you can just sit down for all the help you're going to be," Seras groused, as she finally heaved the last armful of dirt and rock chunks out of the way.

Whether he did or not, she didn't know, because then she then crawled through like Alice through the rabbit hole. This one was very loose and crumbly though. It was like someone carelessly bashed a hole into a weak point in the stone wall, and just crawled through without regard for all the weak cement and dirt that would fall down behind them. It seemed familiar, somehow…

While she had worked rigorously enough to get in, Seras stood very slowly once she got inside. She could see in the dark as well as any vampire, but the underground tunnel was deep and winding. Seras had no idea what lay ahead, and what she would encounter when she advanced in the tunnel. The Major had said: "bring the buried liberation"; but in a world full of ghouls and vampires, that could be anything.

Seras treaded cautiously down the catacomb. She was outwardly wary of what she might encounter, but inwardly _frantic_ to meet the time limit. Apparently, there were speakers planted down here too, because Seras heard ominous music and the scratchy voices of singers chanting, _"A Needle… into a bug, a needle… into a bug, a needle…"_

Seras glared at the walls. Did they have to include music everywhere she went?

To her great surprise, she encountered a dusty tomb, with the mysterious grave-robber strung up and hung upside down from the ceiling. He hung high enough so that his face was level with her breasts if she didn't crouch (there was an unexpected and unwelcome thought) and his hair long enough that it hung close to the ground. He still wore his old leather satchel and duster, which hung down with his hair.

Was this the buried that she had to help bring liberation? Another look at her watch told her she needed to hurry.

When he heard her boots shuffle on the dirt, he cried, "Who's there? Stay back!"

"Um, do you have my cure?" Seras asked.

"… Girl? Is that you?"

"I'm here to earn my cure!" she cried earnestly.

"Your cure? Is that what this is about?!" he shouted, indignantly and incredulously. Then, in a smoother tone: "Sorry, that fucking Rip Van cleaned me out, but maybe later." He grinned seductively, "I'll hook you up later. Just help me down!"

They were both in a frantic hurry to get what they wanted and get out (Seras to find her cure to meet the time limit, and the Grave Robber to get down to keep from passing out from the blood rushing to his head) and so frantically talked over each other.

"Hook me up?" Seras cried, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, hook you up," he grinned.

"You mean… the drug?"

"Yeah, the drug!"

"The drug, is…" she said, thinking it over.

"Your cure, it's …"

"The drug!" Seras cried, thinking it further.

"Help me down!"

"_Help me..."_ Seras said, thinking of the riddle.

"Look, if you want so bad, I'll score some..."

"_Shed some..."_ she murmured, still working out the riddle.

"Girl, I'm out!" he said, searching his empty satchel.

"_Light on-!"_ Seras cried, putting it all together.

"That's the situ-," he pulled a metal instrument from his bag.

_"The situation!"_ Seras cried, proud to have solved the riddle.

"The situation," he said, handing her the metal instrument.

Seras accepted it hesitantly, and stared at it with serious misgivings.

Around them, the sinister-sounding singers continued to chant:

"_A needle, into a bug...  
>A needle, into a bug...<br>A needle, into a bug...  
>A needle, into a bug..."<em>

She stared at it for a moment, and then looked around. When she saw a corpse, she said, "'Illumination on the situation,' so I guess I'll need some…"

"Zydrate? No shit, mon cher."

Seras glared. "Well then, if that's the way you're going to-"

"Wait, come back!"

"I guess I just won't-"

"Cher, pardonne!"

"It's _Seras_," she corrected.

"Cher, if you want some…"

"_Zydrate!"_ Seras snapped, not trusting the way he fumbled with his pants belt.

"You'll 'ave to get it from some skull…"

The sinister chorus continued:

"_A needle, into a bug...  
>A needle, into a bug...<br>A needle, into a bug...  
>A needle, into a bug..."<em>

Seras used that time to think it over, and spotted a withered corpse laying near the grave-robber. It seemed like the scant remains of a woman's body, made of nothing but skeleton and dried skin. A curtain draped over her body, and a blanket over her head, but she was the only one around.

"How 'bout her?"

"Yeah?"

"She's right beside you!"

"So?"

"No, I mean her-"

"I'm out of Zydrate!"

"No!" she said firmly, "It's like a night-light!"

"You're beautiful!" he said, with such a husky voice and roguish grin that even Seras felt her heart throb and her knees weaken. Even hung by his boots, he was too handsome, mysterious, and experienced for comfort. "It's easy."

"How should I use-"

"What thing?"

"This thing."

"Just smack it."

"But…"

"But what?"

"It has no needle."

"No shit? Good fuck!"

"How should I-"

"Well, you got fangs, don't ya?"

Seras' eyes widened in horror, and she stared down at the withered corpse.

"_A needle," _the sinister chanters continued,_ "into a bug...  
>A needle, into a bug...<br>A needle, into a bug...  
>A needle, into a bug..."<em>

Seras looked from the grave robber to the corpse.

"You don't mean...?"

"Yeah!"

"For me to ...?"

"It's so easy!"

"Not for me!"

"So easy..."

Seras whimpered. "I don't think..."

"Don't think!"

"That I could –"

"Just bite it!"

"I guess that she..."

"She won't!"

"But I-"

"-'re a vampire!"

"A sickly one…"

"It's no different!"

"I just-"

"Girl, you've got to stab it!" he shouted.

"Into her skull!" they both said at the same time.

_"A needle,"_ the creepy chorus continued as Seras gingerly propped the corpse up so that it was sitting, leaning against her torso, and she brushed its hair aside. She then sank her fangs deep into its skull, and sucked up its foul tasting liquid. _"…Into a bug!"_

_A needle, into a bug!  
>A needle, into a bug!<br>A needle… into a… bug!"_

At the music's conclusion, Seras had swallowed a mouthful of the glowing silver-blue liquid. She then gasped and wrenched away from the corpse. It felt like boiling blood coursed through her veins. She then gasped and convulsed with the pain. Her body was rejecting it.

Just like the times she forced down human food to avoid drinking vampire blood…

Seras wretched up the offending fluid. She'd swallowed too little and absorbed too much to vomit, so her body tried to force it out through her pores. She broke into a cold sweat, and her skin glowed with silver-blue moisture. It seemed to light up the room, and she looked up at the hanging mercenary; for a split second, like a flash of lightning, he like he wasn't a human of flesh and bone, but molten lava blood.

The pain overwhelmed Seras for a split second; though she couldn't have known how long she'd been out she scrambled up.

"Ugh!" Seras cried, like a child that just ate something gross like broccoli, "How can anyone stand this stuff?!"

"People consume things that aren't good for them because it makes them good, girlie," he said, taking out a cigarette and clenching it between his teeth, "I thought you knew that by now?"

"But this? Is it…" she licked some of the offending substance off her forearm, "Is this silver?!"

"Oui, parts of it," he said, searching his pockets for his own silver lighter.

"B-but why?! Even vampires?" she cried, thinking of Rip Van Winkle.

"Because silver is one of the few toxins to vampires, girl," the upside-down grave-robber said, holding up his silver lighter near his cigarette. "Like nicotine for 'umans. Too much and you get sick, but just enough fills your blood with just enough toxins that it feels good when your body purges it; like tightening your bootlaces just for the pleasure of taking them off."

"Not me!" Seras snapped.

The grave robber chuckled. "My apologies, mon cher," he said, and there did seem to be some genuine apology in there.

No longer the frantic, frightened human desperate to get down, the grave robber seemed quite comfortable hanging here.

Seras glared. "You planted this trick?!"

"Trick? You make it sound so dirty, mon cher," he said, and he lit his cigarette from upside down without the least bit of difficulty. "In order to move forward, you 'ave to look backward. In order to remember 'oo you are, you 'ave to remember where you came from. There is no sooner beginning than 'ere, mon cher. This is 'ow it all began, with 'er and with you; then and now."

"I don't understand!" Seras glared.

"She is 'Madame Mina' Harker, the one that started this all. The one the Count invaded London to court. She is the only one whose blood the count drank, and 'oo drank 'is blood in return. They though Helsing defeated Dracula, and that she became human again. But 'e did not die, Dracula. Instead, he was enslaved by Helsing, made to serve the family as a vampire that 'unted other vampires, to atone for 'is sins. His blood was bound to the family's will, and made to recede inside of her, never to see the light of day again."

"But it was still there," he said, "Every waking moment of her life, and long after she was dead and buried."

"From 'er," he continued, pointing to Mina's corpse with a cigarette between two fingers, "They made the copy-cat vampires that ravished the world; and, from that, the synthetic organs that saved the world. And, from that…" he took a deep drag of his cigarette, "They made the silver drug that numbed the world. It all started right here."

"If that's the case!" Seras cried, hardly knowing what to say or think, "Then why have me crawl all the way through here just to suck her skull?!"

"Because this is where it all started for you," he said calmly, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. "It was in a tomb like this that you were buried for decades, till a wayward grave robber wormed his way in and woke you up."

"And that grave robber wouldn't happen to be you, would it?" she seethed.

He laughed, "Guilty as charged, mon cher," and he lit his cigarette from upside down, and took a deep, relaxing drag of his cigarette. In fact, he seemed infinitely more relaxed up there than she ever saw him standing up, as though he were reclining in a comfortable chair. He looked at her with heart-melting nostalgia. "God, I 'ave missed you. Would that you remembered me, but alas; you do not want to."

"That's not true!" Seras said, "I've been trying so hard…"

"Nah. I know you, girl," he said, "If you wanted to remember, you would 'ave sparked your own memory by now. But it's easier to sit in comfortable darkness than to go through the pain of taking in glowing liquid to see the light."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" she cried, "So why don't you just stop talking in circles and just explain it to me?"

"Yes, you're 'ere now, girl; but this is but a step in your journey. You 'ave a long way to go before you are ready to confront what 'appened that night, and embrace your future. Would that I could make the journey with you, but alas; I am just a 'umble guide, 'ere to 'elp you on your way."

He then un-tensed his muscles and allowed his body to hang limp, in the same manner as one who collapses backwards into a chair. He seemed truly comfortable hanging where he was; content to watch the world and reflect on his memories like an old man in his retirement chair. Still, it was a sad world, and bitter memories. "I can't tell you anything you don't want to remember for yourself," he said, and let his cigarette drop. It sizzled out in the dirt below him.

"Why?"

He chuckled. "So many questions, and never the right ones."

Seras stared at him for a long time. He seemed… different, somehow. He seemed so old and tired, despite having the appearance of a young-ish human. He seemed so… mysterious and pensive, often lost in memories and saturated in years of battles and hardships. Seras had just assumed he was another human when she first encountered him, and didn't put much further thought into it since he was such a fickle trickster that got her in and out of trouble, depending on his whim. Now, however…

"You're not human, are you?" she finally asked.

He lit and exhaled deeply from a new cigarette, but then chuckled at her question. "You finally figured that out, mon cher?"

"Then what are you?!" Seras demanded.

"It doesn't matter to you now," he said, and she couldn't help noticing some… regret? "**You** 'ave an opera to attend. As for me?" he said, crossing his arms behind his neck leisurely. "I'll be 'anging out 'ere, with this other corpse that Millennium picked clean and left to be forgotten in this oubliette," he said, gesturing to Mina's corpse.

Seras rose quickly to her feet, eager to get out of this tomb… Then she remembered the Major mentioning something about liberating the buried.

"Run, mon cher," he said when she paused, "Go meet your destiny."

"Will you be all right here?"

"Eh, I've been through worse," he said.

Seras pulled out a knife hidden in her boot and flung it at him. He caught it easily.

"In case you need help getting down," she said. Her conscience cleared, she and made for the surface.

The grave robber had given her a great deal to think about. Her head was so full that she barely noticed the body guard when she emerged. He was staring at her expectantly. "You all have a sick sense of humor, you know that?" Seras cried, and stomped right past him out into the night, both impatient for and in dread of whatever they had in store for her at the Opera.

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><p>Closing notes: My only regret for this entire fanfic is that I didn't portray Pip Bernadotte as the mysterious, experienced, enigmatic trickster the way I wanted. It's too late to go back and redo the entire fic, but I hope I was able to do him a little justice in this chapter.<p> 


	11. Let the Monster Rise

Author's Notes: Okay, okay, I got "Needle Through a Bug" off my chest. Now, it's time for the real action. (I thought it was a good chapter though…)

Disclaimer: No review? No update. I'm holding this fic hostage.

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><p>The stage was set. Rich socialites filled the Opera House. Limousines and paparazzi filled the streets surrounding the Opera House. Poor scalpel sluts gathered in front of every television screen available; be it those in their homes, screens set up all over the city, or the zeppelins that flew overhead. The performers were almost set. Rip Van Winkle, fresh out of surgery, applied her new face since she had no time to sew it on. Lady Hellsing, alone in her dressing room, looked on her countless fan letters, bouquets and awards with despair and regret.<p>

On stage, the curtains were pulled. A rock band wearing Venetian monster masks readied their instruments.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMENT, THE MILLENNIUM OPERA!"

The Opera House exploded with cheery, catchy rock music that moved all out of their seats. Sparkling confetti fell from the ceiling. A sweet, classy old lady that would normally play the pipe organ in church acted as the Opera's Disk Jockey. The band leader bounced down the aisles with genterns behind him. Instead of the usual slutty nurse outfits, they all dressed in white bras, panties, fishnet stockings, and cheesecloth body decorations. They all danced in provocative, suggestive manners that showed off their half-naked bodies in the best way.

The band leader jumped along the aisles, encouraging:

"_Everybody, everybody! S-s-s-stand up!_

_Don't be shy! People, people, people!_

_"Cut up! Get up! Get up!"_

_"Everybody, everybody..."_

"Testify!" everybody sang.

"EVERYBODY!"

The genterns stomped, slapped and banged their fists down to the ground so everyone could see their... considerable assets.

_"G-g-g-get down, get down, get down now!"_

_"S-s-s-stand up!"_ he sang as they all rose seductively,

_"Don't be shy! People, people, people!_

_Cut up! Get up! Get up!"_

**"EVERYBODY! _TESTIFY!"_**

Several people rose up to testify rescued souls at church.

A middle-aged man in a business suit rose to shout: "MILLENICO HELPED ME UPGRADE MY SECOND-CLASS HEREDITY!"

"_Testify!"_

A twenty-something woman with long brown hair rose to cry: "MY LIVER WAS WRECKED! BUT NOW, I CAN DRINK WHATEVER I WANT!"

"_Testify!"_

A man who made the Major look skinny by comparison cried, "BEFORE MILLENNICO, MY ANATOMY WAS COMPLETELY _REPRESSED_!"

The genterns fawned over him, and slowly made their way over to the stage; their scantily clad hindquarters swinging, bouncing and swaying as they ran up to the stage. "State! Your! Names!" the bandleader cried. _"Genterns..."_ they all moaned seductively. Then they all gathered around into an orgy, moaning and gasping and squealing orgasmically as they rubbed and rocked their bodies against each other.

"HOT _DAMN!_ THESE BITCHES ARE S-S-S-_SAVED!"_ Jan shouted, entering stage left as his brother entered stage right.

After more cheering and praising of MillenniCo, the band leader and genterns repeated their chorus of "Everybody, everybody!" This time accompanied by the Valentine Brothers, dressed in their best suits and body modifications, each smiling and cheering and encouraging everyone to testify along with the band leader.

Outside the Opera House, the Captain drove Seras in the limousine. She wrung her fingers nervously. They were covered with white gloves, which felt very odd since she had not worn any for years. Newly washed and dressed, she wore her master's red Victorian coat and hat, and his yellow sunglasses. Why this odd attire? She did not know. She felt like this would stand out in a classy opera filled with fine ladies in evening attire; and not in a good way. Especially for the Fuhrer's arm candy? Worse still, she felt like a little kid wearing her daddy's suit, which just made her even more nervous. What did they have ready for her next? She did not know. Seras anxiously looked out the window and wrung her fingers over what she feared awaited her.

Back in the Opera House, a thirty-something woman in the crowd rose to testify for MillenniCo. Ironically, she was the grown up daughter of the single mother who hesitantly signed for a new heart on the first day that MillenniCo opened, all those years ago. Unlike her mother, this woman had no qualms about signing whatever MillenniCo put in front of her. She stood beside Luke in front of a crowd of onlookers, with blonde hair and a closed trench coat tied.

"_I needed a kidney transplant desperately." _She sang cheerfully,_ "MillenniCo showed this single mom sympathy." _Jan smiled enthusiastically (imagine that), and swayed with the music, his eyes telling the audience they were in for a treat. "_This makeover came for a small added fee. Now I look smashing on live TV!"_ she cried as she threw off her trench coat and showed off her new twenty-something body for all to see.

"BE HEALED!" the Major cried as he arrived in the Opera House with his faithful Doktor by his side. The audience applauded and cheered rigorously.

"_You know you want it, baby, Millennico's got it!"_ the Brothers Valentine sang as he strolled down the aisle. _"You know you want it, baby, Millennico's got it! You know you want it baby!"_

The music slowed to a more melodic tone, and the genterns sang, _"I was infected... by my genetics!" _

The Captain let Seras out of the limo, and she looked up with trepidation at the towering MillenniCo monolith and surrounding skyscrapers. Attached to the skyscrapers, giant television screens broadcasted the festivities inside the Millennium Opera, and dozens of giant flags and posters of many sizes advertised Lady Hellsing and the Opera. High above the monolith and skyscrapers, she saw three or four zeppelins floated above the city. They seemed to circle above the enclosed city like toy boats in a fish bowl, and Seras was looking up at them from the perspective of the fish. Seras then got a strong case of vertigo and stumbled along with her eyes down. She might have lost her balance had the Captain not placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. She expected him to walk through the paparazzi and down the red carpet into the Millennium Opera, but instead he led her away to a side entrance.

Inside the Millennium Opera, the festivities were louder and cheerier than ever. "_Now I'm perfected... by my cosmetics!"_

People rose to cheer and aplaud as their Fuhrer walked down the aisle. He shook the hands of many people as he passed. Many onlookers praised the Doktor's fine work and how his organs saved or (more often) changed their lives. The Doktor, who in his heart had always wanted to use science for the betterment of mankind (however twisted his logic or his methods), was deeply gratified.

Above the cheerful crowd, Seras and the Captain rode a dark elevator to the top floor. The Captain was still tall and intimidating; silent and stoic. Seras knew it was useless trying to ask him anything since he never spoke or showed a remotely positive emotion. Normally she could handle it, but now they were in an enclosed elevator, leading her to God knew where, which made the tension all the more awkward. If Walter was always cool as morning frost, this man was frigid and indomitable as an ice berg. He made the Walter she knew seem warm and friendly by comparison. (She tried not to think about Walter being warm or friendly toward her.) This didn't help her nerves any.

Down in the opera, the festivities exploded with unbridled enthusiasm; the music swelling to its climax. The Major, Doktor, and Valentine Brothers eventually made their way to the stage along with the rest of the ensemble. As they did, the music swelled and came to a halt.

"EVERYBODY!" they all screamed, "Everybody, make your genetics your BITCH! **TESTIFY!**"

Far above the roar of the crowd, the silent elevator opened to a dark storage room. Seras hesitantly stepped through the door. If she thought the Captain would follow, she learned better when he remained standing rigid as a stone till the elevator doors locked him from sight.

Up ahead, the room was completely black. The only light was an old-fashioned film reel from the early 20th century, projecting a movie on a flat screen. The video was a recording of the Major.

"Seras!" he said, "You've made it!  
>You're close enough to taste it!<br>Your cure ist waiting!  
>There is but one thing pending:<br>Help us catch him."

The film reel showed choppy, blotchy footage of a slim, dark figure, with long wild hair tied into a ponytail, running swiftly through the streets of the rubble city. Wires flew out in every direction, slicing and severing all within reach. Entire neighborhoods crumbled in the hurricanes of wires, and scores of citizens collapsed in blood. Several MillenniCops charged and dozens fired at him, yet he dodged and sliced through them with ease.

"This former Millenni trainee,  
>Who's lost his mind completely,<br>And managed to escape me."

"_You saw him in the graveyard!_" a soprano wailed.

Choppy footage from the graveyard that Seras snuck into the night before. So it wasn't a dream after all. Part of her wished it was. The footage showed Seras bleeding on the ground, pleading with her shooters. From the crowd of ghoul police emerged what looked to be the same mysterious figure that she had seen right before passing out. He sliced his way through the crowd of ghouls as he made his way closer to her, then leaned down and reached a hand toward her, as though to finish the job.

"Thank God my guards responded," the Major continued.

Old, choppy footage of the Captain fly-kicking him. The Reaper easily blocked his kick, then the two stood in front of each other.

"It seems this fiend has set his teeth on you, so be on guard; he's coming!"

Seras gasped and looked around. Oh no; not here?!

"We used you as bait to draw this snake out of his hole,  
>And I am sorry, Seras, for that,<br>**But!** This is your defining moment!  
>Will you let yourself be trapped?<br>Or will you use the trap to trap him?!"

Seras looked around with horror. Oh, no… not this. Not like this. The whole reason she wanted her cure was so she could fight vampires like the Angel of Death!

Downstairs, the announcer called: "And now, put your hands together for MillenniCo's favorite (and only) maiden of battle: Rip Van Winkle!"

The curtains opened to her show. The music was a very short and modern version of a section of Richard Wagner's _Siegfried. _The story? The Valkyrie Brünnhilde was placed in an enchanted sleep on a mountaintop, until a worthy man could pass fearlessly through the ring of fire that guarded her. Naturally, Rip Van Winkle was Brünnhilde. She wore long, long curly blonde hair that put Integra's to shame, dressed in sexy armor, and held a shield and spear. She was surrounded by a literal ring of fire. The stage was set to look like a mountain top. Her valets dressed like Norse gods, and several genterns dressed like less elaborate Valkyries.

Rip stood in a lethargic manner, with a single arm draped over her forehead, feigning sleep. Soon the titular Siegfried arrived and feigned surprise on seeing her, and she feigned surprise on seeing him after waking up. Unfortunately, Rip Van Winkle was so strung out on zydrate that she truly was swaying on her feet, and wasn't careful about how close she got to the flames.

"Blame not my cheeks," she sang, leaning too close to the fire, "though burned with love they be..."

When a strand of her long hair caught fire, she twirled carelessly to try to put it out... only to twirl her face right off.

The audience booed and jeered. Rip Van Winkle stared, frozen in horror.

When she didn't move, overhead speakers tried to help. _"You didn't see what you just saw,"_ they sang. _"You didn't hear what you just heard..."_

To no avail. The audience continued to boo, mock, jeer, and hiss relentlessly. Many threw popcorn and gave thumbs down.

Humiliated and mortified, Rip Van Winkle hesitantly picked up her fallen face, and then fled the stage.

Upstairs, Seras fell to the ground in despair. She looked around that dark room filled with grinning mannequins, unforgiving suits of armor, mocking Venetian masks and stage props piled all the way to the ceiling. She missed her own possessions in her own room and wished desperately that she was there now. Walter was right about Millennium. He was right about everything. She should have listened to him and stayed in their home. He spent years working to protect her and she blew it all in one night.

Now she was going to die alone in a mocking little prison like this, with no one to mourn her passing. Would anyone even move her body, or leave her to rot up here with nothing but cruel masks to laugh at her? Would they dump her corpse into a mass grave along with all the Angel's other victims? Would they even tell Walter? Would he even know what happened to her? Or would he be left forever wondering where she was and what happened to her? Seras could only imagine his despair at working so hard to protect her for so many years, only for her to tell him she didn't care what he thought and she was leaving whether he liked it or not, before disappearing forever. How cruel and selfish she had been to him...

From the overhead intercom, the Major said: "Clip the wings of the Angel of Death and you get your cure."

Seras curled up against the walls and cried into her knees like the frightened little girl she was.

Downstairs, the overhead speaker cheerfully announced: "And now, MillenniCo proudly presents: Lady Hellsing!"

The audience applauded and the lights dimmed. The curtains pulled back to reveal a beautiful backdrop of white snowy fields, winter trees, and snowy white mountains. The sky was a rich, crisp sapphire, and a full moon hung overhead. Stage snow fluttered delicately to the floor. A wrought iron fence was set stage right and left, and a small castle was set in downstage center, beneath the mountain. An allusion to Vlad the Impaler's castle; a subtle way to mock her again. But she was beyond care.

Connected to stage wires, Lady Hellsing was slowly, delicately lowered onto the stage. Her long blonde hair was curled and wavy as it was in the early days when she commanded Alucard. She was exquisitely dressed in a thick black corset and high boots, with long, rich feathers blooming out of each side so that they covered her breasts and hips. She had long feathers in her hair and in her eyelashes, so as to create a distinct bird motif. She wore a studded collar and wrist bands to allude to her slavery. She spread her arms delicately as a bird that flies. She sang slowly yet heartily, like any soprano.

**_"A long time ago..."_** she sang.

Backstage, the Dok and Valentine Brothers were scandalized. She was supposed to sing in _Italian_, not her native _English_! What was she doing? Should they pull the curtains? No, this was her final show. It would look bad if they pulled the curtains for no apparent reason. Besides, they already looked bad after having to pull Rip Van Winkle's show; the little screw-up. If they pulled another, it would make them look incompetent and unprofessional. What did the Major think? Let her have her show. They shrugged. Better sit back and see where she takes this.

**_"A fatal bird whose voice_**

**_Made Hell Sing,"_** she continued,

_**Met the arrow of an archer**_

_**While flying**_

_**Along the blood coasts.**_

_**For years, thinking she was being**_

_**Chased**_

_**She escaped the arrow."**_

By this time, Integra had been lowered to the stage and she stepped toward the audience, singing and reaching directly toward them.

**_"'Integral, Integral,_**

**_Why don't you face the danger?'_**

**_The arrow was attached to its wing,_**

**_And it flew trying to shake it off._**

**_'Pulling at the arrow,_**

**_Others get wounded, due to me_**

**_Due to me…'"_**

She paused, half expecting the curtains to get pulled. When they did not, she looked over the audience. Hundreds of innocent eyes all looked up at her expectantly. Hundreds of innocent eyes that hung on her every word. Thousands of unseen citizens that signed their lives away, spent thier lives in debt and lost their lives to the Angel of Death... all because they clamored to buy the unneeded organs that she promoted. Innocent young girls like Seras that emulated her beauty and voice, but not her courage, integrity, leadership, iron will, or force of personality, as many others did once; long ago.

She was no longer the Iron Lady that Alucard had proudly served. She was not the woman he would want to serve even if he did return. This was not the world that she traded her very being to save. These were not the citizens that were worth her being to save. How she had looked on with despair at the world; felt more despair seeing this false cheerful world than she ever did hearing the miserable and dying one. They were all rotting corpses boasting of pretty shrouds to hide the festering, and they praised her for helping them to hide it better. As long as they clung to shrouds and not the underlying cause, they would never begin to recover.

Tonight, she would cast off the veil. She would show them the carrion-feasting beasts under their leaders' pretty veil. She would show them the iron will under her soft exterior. She would become the iron lady worthy of Alucard's service, Seras' admiration, and the world's emulation. As long as she continued to live with this lie, she would never be worthy of her vampires' service. Of course, the Major would try to throw the pretty veil over her again; but even a brief glimpse of the monsters feasting under the shroud would be better than no glimpse at all.

Integra steadied herself with a single breath, determined to follow through with what she started. Slowly, she turned around, and raised her arms like they were wings; a signal to the stage hands to lower the stage strings. She approached it briskly, then turned and sang back to the audience with renewed vigor as she flew. Louder and more fiercely than ever, she bellowed:

**_"Down! Towards the devil's mouth!_**

**_Towards the dread hound's sharp fangs...!_**

**_His arrow, my eyes..._**

**_Herr Major, come take these eyes!" _**she sang, and then she glared, first at the Herr Major and then at the audience, dead in the eyes.

**_"I would rather be __blind..."_**

Thus said, she used the silver claws attached to her index fingers to gouge out her own eyes.

The audience gasped and screamed in shock and horror.

Integra exalted in their shock and horror. She smiled euphorically, more joyfully than she ever had in decades. She smiled like a child that had just woken from a wonderful dream. She looked as though the sound of the audience's horrified gasps and screams were the most beautiful music she had ever heard. She spread her arms, as though to welcome her Death.

Herr Major obliged her when he calmly pressed a button on his remote.

The wires that held Integra suddenly dropped, and she was impaled on a pike.

The cries of horror were suddenly silenced. The entire audience stared in shock. A moment of silence fell over the dead city. From the wealthy in the opera, to the working class in their homes, to the impoverished in the streets. People from every walk of life; young and old, rich and poor, male and female, human and vampire, all gazed in shock, denia,l and despair at their Lady. Integra Hellsing, their heroine and their idol, whose voice led them out of darkness and whose eyes brought them hope, hung impaled through her heart and hung limp from a pike. Killed by her employers... after denouncing their product.

The silence broke when a cheerful announcer cried, "Ladies and gentlemen! Please stay in your seats! It's all part of the show!"

The curtains closed and their Fuhrer stepped forward, singing cheerfully:

_"STAY TUNED, FOLKS!_  
><em>YOU DON'T WANT TO MOVE, FOLKS!<em>  
><em>'CAUSE THERE'S MORE EXCITEMENT COMING!<em>  
><em>AS AN ENCORE,<em>  
><em>MILLENNICO WILL CURE<em>  
><em>A VERY SICK AND NEEDY YOUNG GIRL!<em>  
><em>SHE'S BEEN CAGED UP,<em>  
><em>LIKE A MONSTER,<em>  
><em>BY HER OVERBEARING BUTLER!<em>  
><em>BUT TONIGHT WE'RE GONNA SET HIM RIGHT,<em>  
><em>AND FOR ALL YOUR VIEWING PLEASURES!"<em>

A screen broadcasted to the audience what was going on upstairs.

In the dark room, Seras had draped her Master's coat, hat, and sunglasses over a mannequin propped on a chair. The was wearing her old Hellsing uniform underneath it. The distant sound of Integra's voice downstairs had spurred her into action. The Angel of Death might kill her, but she would go down fighting rather than crying. She had scoured the rows and rows of costumes, backdrops and stage props trying to find a suitable weapon. Most of them were too difficult to wield with one hand, like the large katana and rapier. She found a few large pistols, but of course they didn't have any bullets. She found several bayonets, but wasn't sure if she wanted to use them. Something about them repelled her. She eventually found a large shovel, oddly enough. She was going to try to find something better (perhaps a crowbar or something), but she heard footsteps approach from outside.

Seras just barely managed to hide before the sound of razors scraped the hall. She gasped when she heard the entire wall crumble.

Thankfully, the Angel of Death did not hear her. Seras could hear him though. She strained her senses.

For a moment, he stood still as death. Then, he slowly walked forward. Every step sounded like a clang of death. He was completely void otherwise. While Seras could not see him, she could sense his presence, or lack thereof. He was so... black and biting. Like a black hole that sucked all the warmth and light out of a room. Like an aggressive winter frost that blighted every plant down to the roots (like her window flowers). The room no longer seemed strange and mocking, but just... cold, empty. Dead and hollow. She felt a sense of helplessness that chilled her to the bone.

"There's no sense hiding," he said in a voice that bit like frozen metal in winter. Any vague familiarity was drowned by its biting malice.

"Did you think you could hide from me, little pig?" he sneered, stepping into the center of the room. "After everything you tried to do?"

Seras furrowed her brows, in spite of herself. 'Little pig?' That wasn't very nice... but she dared not tell him that.

"You and I made an agreement, little pig," he taunted, "Did you really think you could default and escape the Angel of Death?"

Seras had no idea what he was talking about, but dared not question him. His voice lacked emotion, empathy, or _humanity_. He was cold and hollow; more a force of nature than a person. She might as well try talking to the winter frost that killed her flowers. She _was_ a flower hiding from frost. She only prayed he didn't find her first. _'Please take the_ _bait,'_ she thought,_ 'Please take the bait. Please take the bait...'_

"If you don't come out..." he continued, with cruel nonchalance, "I shall be forced to blow the house down. Is that what you want, little pig?"

Seras didn't dare move a muscle. No heartbeat, no breath, not even a blink. _'Please take the bait! Please take the bait! Please take the bait!'_

The wires flicked out, and Seras flinched when she heard every large pile of stage equipment in the room burst and clatter to pieces. The noise was deafening, compared to the otherwise tangible silence. Seras felt terrified that any instant now, the wires would flicker out and cut her right where she hid.

_'**Please** don't find me first,' _she screamed into her own head, her eyes shut tight, _'Please take the bait! Please take the bait! **Please take the bait!**'_

"Aw, have I blown your little house down, you dis_gus_ting little pig?" his voice cracked like ice at the word _disgusting_. "Are you afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"

After that last question, his entire countenance changed. The tension seemed to visibly slacken in the room. His steps were no long short and pointed, but more normal and casual, as he slowly walked toward the area where she set her bait.

"What's this...?" he asked, lifting a flap of the coat.

_'NOW!'_

While he was distracted, Seras sprang from her hiding place and swung the shovel with all her might. She meant to slice at his neck with the edge, but it was too large and clumsy to wield with one hand, so instead it bashed his head with the broad side. Still, the head is one of only two weak spots to a vampire. If he had been human, his brains would have splattered across the wall. Still, his body spasmed from head to limb, his muscles slackened, and his body swayed from the impact.

Seras gripped her shovel tighter, and charged at him again. However, even as he seemed to sway forward, his right hand shot out behind him, and several wires flew out and wrapped around her body. Seras yelped as he yanked her toward him - then narrowed her eyes and decided to use the momentum to swing at him again. He whirled around and grabbed her by the front collar - yanked her forward so that her face was inches from his. His eyes were blank rage; his face murderously demonic-

They both froze in shock and horror when they saw who the other one was.

They both stood there for what felt like an agonizing eternity; neither one moved a muscle. Walter gripped her by the front collar with one hand, held several wires wrapped tightly around her body with another. She just hung there, her face inches from his, a shovel poised to strike him on the head. After what felt like an agonizing eternity, Seras' grip slackened on her shovel, which fell to the floor with a deafening clatter. Walter released his grip on her collar and his wires, which fell limply around her feet.

Seras looked as though she wanted to cry and scream. She looked upon him with the same shock, horror, disbelief and _betrayal_ that everyone he knew had once looked upon him; long ago. Walter slowly backed away from her, his eyes averted with shame and guilt. It was the same look in her eyes that had haunted his memories and fueled his nightmares for decades. It was the same look he had always dreaded seeing again. The same look he had worked so hard for so many years to prevent ever seeing ever again; and here it was, to no avail.

Almost to cover his despair, Walter steeled himself with anger toward her.

"Didn't I tell you not to go out? Didn't I?" whispered, in a deathly calm tone.

"You did, you did..." she whispered in a broken tone.

"Didn't I say the world was cruel? Didn't I?"

"You did, you did," she whimpered.

"Then tell me how this happened, what I did wrong, tell me why?" he demanded, stepping toward her. Seras picked up a few of his wires and held them up as though in self-defence, and circled around the table. The way she recoiled in fear cut him more deeply than any wire. His countenance melted into sorrow and regret. His voice broke as he pleaded, "Can't we just go home, Seras, and forget this dreadful night?"

Now it was Seras' turn to be angry. Her expression hardened as much as his softened.

"Didn't you say that you were different? Didn't you?" she demanded.

"I am, I am..." He wilted under her glare, just as he had done to Integra.

He knelt to pick up his wires, needing _any_ excuse to avoid her eyes.

"Say you aren't that... _person_. Say it," she demanded more firmly.

"I am, I am..." he whispered weakly.

"Then tell me how to act, Walt. What to say, Walt. Tell me why all you've ever told me, every word… is a lie!" she screamed, and pounded his shoulder as hard as she could as she stormed right past him. He flinched like a kicked dog at her touch.

Seras made for the door, but ran right into a hologram of Integra's corpse impaled on a pike. Seras' eyes widened in horror and disbelief. 'No..." she whispered. Her hero, her idol, her master. The woman she cared for more than any person in the world, after her guardian. The woman she went through all of this tonight to save. The woman she admired more than any other in the world; left to hang on a pike, with blood trailing down her hair and limbs, with blood trailing out of her empty eye sockets... with wires trailing down her body.

Seras glared hate, and rounded on Walter.

"Didn't you say that you'd protect me? Didn't you?!"

"I tried, I tried!" he cried, his eyes still on his lady.

"Is **that** how you'd help me? Is it?!"

"I tried, I tried!"

Seras grabbed handfuls of his wires and tried to throw them at him. "Don't help me **anymore**, Walt! You are **dead**, Walt, in my eyes!" she shouted, and instead shoved and punched and pounded on his chest as hard as she could. It didn't do that much damage physically, but he seemed to flinch emotionally. "Someone has replaced you. Walt, I **hate** you! Go! And! **Die**!"

"Didn't I build a house? A home? Didn't I?" he called after her.

Seras hesitated at the door, then an enticing recording of the Major cried, _"Your cure... ist waiting!"_

Seras then turned to glare at Walter, who never offered any such thing, and stormed out of the room.

"Didn't I protect her all alone, didn't I?!" Of course he did.

Of course Seras had been a little restless, but it was still a pleasant life. They still spent many pleasant years together. The books, the lessons, the music, the gardening (what little there was), the board games, the television operas...

"Then Montana took her from me. Stole my Seras. He's to blame!"

If only that fat little major hadn't seduced her with promises of more freedom, she might have come to like their life together. They could have gone on enjoying each other's company forever.

"Have I failed my ward?"

Was their life really so terrible? Was she really _so_ unhappy with him that she would rather sell her soul the devil than remain with him? Fine.

"Then let the butler die!" he cried, and felt all emotions rapidly recede from him like ocean water from the shore, to fuel a budding tsunami.

"And let the monster rise!" he bellowed, and charged toward the world with all the force of a tsunami, intent to destroy all in his path.


	12. Cut the Ties

Author's Notes: Forget to mention, the lyrics to Integra's final song are a paraphrased version of the actual translation of Mag's final song, Chromaggia. I'm sure you figured, but it bears repeating. Secondly, thank you for all the reviews. Sorry to get upset over it, I just work really hard on these and want to know it's appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own no intellectual properties present.

* * *

><p>"<em>Angel of Death…"<em>

Walter charged burst through the backstage. Several guards tried to stop him, but of course he cut through them easily. He then encountered the werewolf, who merely glared at him. This gave Walter slight pause. The Captain was the only one who could easily hold his wires. Not far beyond the Captain, Seras looked between the two of them with trepidation. Not far behind her, the Major grinned mockingly and the Valentine Brothers smirked from the wings.

"You bastard…" he whispered.

The Major was within a finger's reach. He could lash out quickly—heck, he could cut through everyone in this room and likely survive the fight with the werewolf if he focused his skills… but there was no way he could guarantee Seras' safety. Even after she rejected him and stood among these carrion beasts, looking at him with fear and apprehension the way she should be looking at them—he could not hurt her.

He kept his eyes on the Captain's pointed glare, the Valentine Brother's psychotic smirks, and the Major's smug grin. Even the Doktor holding a camcorder in the corner (so that the audience could see what was happening behind the curtain) incurred his ire. Something of a stale mate passed between them. While everyone in the room was eager to dispense with the other, there was no quick or quiet way to do it. Walter knew that they didn't want to make a ruckus for the audience, and he did not want to harm Seras. So he walked slowly among them, his eyes watchful, his senses piqued, his muscles tense, waiting for any opportunity to attack or defend.

Then he spied the body of his lady; run through and hung on high like one of the Impaler's countless victims. God, what a sick and cruel joke. Even in death, they had shown her none of the dignity or respect that she deserved. In fact, he had shown her none of the dignity or respect that she deserved. It was his entire fault that they were able to get their hands on her in the first place. Despair like that which he had never known gripped him. After decades of torture and degradation that whittled away her will and her hope, he had known that her death had been long coming. He had told himself for decades that it would be a mercy kill… but now that it was here, it filled him with a great despair, and profound regret. He should have done more to help her; he should never have abandoned her to the wolves after throwing her to the wolf's den. He didn't know... but that was no excuse. He had decades to make things right. Seeing her there brought shame and guilt more profound even than that of being seen as a traitor.

Walter's momentary attention on her body was just the opening they were looking for. The Major nodded to the Dok, who then pressed a button on his remote.

Walter groaned with pain as several fail-safes went off in his body.

"Walter!" Seras screamed, as he sank to his knees.

Walter took several ragged breaths through gritted teeth. Several joints in his limbs had popped like water balloons, tendons came loose from his bones, and a few of his organs filled with blood. He didn't need them to survive—but they hurt like hell.

"Well done, Miss Victoria," the Major said, "You've exceeded all my plans."

"More than you could say for Rip Van Winkle!" Jan sneered.

"More than I can say for you!" the Major retorted.

"What?!"

Luke chuckled.

"Or your just as worthless brother."

"HA! In your FACE, bitch!"

"…What?" Luke murmured.

He was always the most mature, responsible, and competent lieutenant. Where did this come from?

"I just want to get my cure," Seras said, glaring.

"Und I promised to deliver!" the Major assured her.

"Don't you lay a hand on her," Walter rasped from the ground.

"Hold your tongue before a commanding officer," the Major barked, uncharacteristically stern.

"Touch her and I swear I'll kill you!" Walter seethed, rising to his knees despite the torn ligaments, and raising his wires with his good hand.

"Bring it on, you cheap imposter!" the Major grinned.

At the same time, the Doktor clicked another fail-safe button. Several more joints and ligaments blew like gaskets, and Walter groaned and coughed up more blood as he collapsed onto the ground. Seras gasped and looked down on him with concern. She whimpered and fidgeted, torn over whether to run to him or not.

The Valentine Brother cackled like hyenas, and the Major smirked in sadistic satisfaction.

The curtain opened and the Major addressed the audience with a grand sweep of his arm. "EVEN THOUGH I'M TERMINALLY ILL…!"

He paused to let the news sink in like cocoa in warm milk, and to drink up the delicious reaction.

The audience all gasped and furrowed their brows in confusion, and one clueless idiot in the back cried, "What does that mean?"

Even the Major had to heave a put-upon sigh. "I'm dying, you idiots."

THEN the desired reaction came from the audience and his lieutenants.

"Oh, please don't say you're dying, Fuhrer," the Valentine Brothers cried as they circled him like jackals.

Ignoring them, the Major addressed the audience grandly, "… SO I PLANNED MY PERFECT END!"

Taking his cue, the Valentine Brothers smiled and cried grandly: "A tale befitting any opera!"

"AN ENDING ONLY I COULD SPIN!"

"Ending you would be my pleasure," Walter rasped from the ground.

"I no longer trust you, Walter," Seras glared at him from where she stood, but then she flinched away from Jan's groping hand.

"You can NEVER trust a traitor!" the Valentine Brothers gloated maliciously, as Luke ushered her over to where Walter lay.

"But… he was serving _you_!" Seras cried, not understanding where the accusation of 'traitor' came from. To her? Perhaps, but that was only after Millennium had won…

"Oh, there's more beneath his mask!" the Major grinned.

The audience sat at the tips of their seats, eager to hear more.

Luke grabbed Seras around the shoulder again as he and smirked, "Did you know he helped us to defeat your master?"

The audience gasped with delight.

"What?" Seras gasped with horror.

"That was just an accident…" Walter grimaced.

"Only an accident that you did not get to kill him on your own!" they jeered.

"What are you talking about?!"

"You know that demon that he told you dragged him down to Hell?" the Major said, wrapping an arm around Seras like she was his protégé. She slapped his hand away. "He helped us arrange for him to eat!"

"What?" Seras cried. "No…"

"Yes, it ist so!" they cried, and the Major directed her to view the movie screen.

It was the footage of the Walter she knew confronting the master she recognized, only with knee-length black hair and a full-body bondage suit. Short clips strung together showed them fighting in moral combat, with Walter whittling away at her master's familiars, the Hound of Baskerville, Luke Valentine... (Seras cast a questioning glance at the real Luke Valentine at her side. In answer, he drew a finger up his arm and mimed drawing blood with a needle and syringe.) Her master then became hungry and summoned the blood of the slaughtered London. A catboy that looked remarkably like Seras cut off his own head and let his body fall into the river of blood. The catboy's body soon disappeared, and when his blood reached her master, she froze in shock.

Presently, Millennium continued, "His hatred of Alucard was so much greater than his love of you or Integra that he helped us find a way to defeat him!"

"And that ist not his greatest fib!" the Major cried.

Seras had had enough of half-truths and mind games.

"Someone tell me what is going on!" she demanded.

"That's right Walter, tell her what ist going on," the Major jeered.

"Yeah, tell her what the fuck is going on!" Jan cackled.

"Tell her!" Luke cried.

"_Tell her! Tell her!"_ they chanted.

"Someone tell me what is going on!" Seras cried, more urgently.

"_Tell her! Tell her…!"_ audience joined in, and the Valentine Brothers ran up and down the aisles, encouraging everyone to chant along.

"Let's leave!" Walter cried, turning away from the camera the Doktor pointed in his face.

The Captain grabbed him by the scruff and the back of the head, forced him to kneel before the audience, and his face pointed towards Seras. He closed his eyes and tried to turn away from her.

"_TELL HER! TELL HER! TELL HER…!"_

"LET'S LEAVE!" Walter cried over the roar of the chanting.

"Someone tell me what is going on!"

"NO MORE!"

"TELL HER! TELL HER!"

"TELL ME! TELL ME!"

"**NO MORE!"**

"TELL MEEEEE~!"

The room quieted as the audience settled back into their seats, the Valentine Brothers found places within the audience to enjoy the show, and the Major ushered the sick girl to the broken man.

"May I introduce you to the man who brought us victory?!" the Major cried grandly. At the same time, he passed Seras a bundle of short letters and telegrams, all dated from the 1940's to the 1990's, all written to and from Millennium; all written in Walter's hand or signed with his initials.

As if that were not enough, the screen filled with years of footage documenting Walter's betrayal. The video clips were short and choppy, but strung together they told a story. Walter as a child bickering with her master's girly form to her face, yet glaring resentfully behind her back. Her master abandoning Walter to fight the Captain alone; Walter glaring after her in shock and rage. Short clips of Walter corresponding with Millennium over many years, slowly aging from the young man she knew to the old butler she vaguely remembered. Footage of the old butler holding up a floor plan to the Hellsing mansion, with certain areas circled and crossed out, before faxing it over. The Hellsing mansion flooded with ghouls. The old butler confronting the Captain, and emerging as the Walter she knew. Walter confronting her master, her mistress, and her, and shrugging off their horrified reactions with cold nonchalance. Walter fighting her master again... Her master slowly filling with eyes that closed...

Seras stared at all of this with eyes wide with shock and denial.

The Major stole behind her and whispered: "He fed us your organization's secrets for over half a century…"

Walter convulsed with rage, and used his good hand to flick a single wire like a whip. It flicked back and snapped the werewolf in the eye. The creature let go of him and to clutch his injured face. At the same time, the Doktor clicked another fail-safe button on his remote. Walter groaned in agony as yet more joints, tendons and organs burst in his chest, and collapsed onto the ground again.

Seras' eyes widened in horror, and she whimpered and slowly stepped away from the screen.

"It can't be...!" Seras gasped.

"It's as true as you and me."

"It can't be…" Seras whimpered, and let the letters drop from between her fingers.

"It ist so, Fraulein," the Major leered, "He was a traitor long before you ever entered the picture."

"No…" Seras whispered, shaking her head. "It's... it's all too much, I-I can't..."

Walter used all of his strength to look up. He had never wanted Seras to find out... if he did though, he would have broken the news gently to her. Millennium told her all the worst information in the exact worst way, in front of the whole world. Walter did not feel as sorry for himself as he would have thought before. He was devastated for her to know his horrid past... but not as much as how he knew the news devastated and wounded Seras.

"I can't breathe…" Seras whispered, stumbling back and clutching her torso.

"You're a vampire, Seras."

"No… I… I can't _breathe_," Seras sobbed, clutching her torso like she was in agony.

"Ah, the withdrawal ist right on schedule," the Doktor said calmly, zooming in on the sick girl.

"Seras..." Walter gasped, and tried to crawl toward her, reaching a hand out.

The Captain, now recovered, pinned him to the ground with a stomp of his boot.

"MAJOR! STOP THIS!" Walter shouted, with more passion and fury than Seras had ever heard from him.

"It's too late now, _boy, _the transformation is already taking effect!" the Major gloated, as Seras continued to pant and try to suppress a cold sweat of many countless eyes, "Her master's blood ist already flooding her veins, und vill soon consume her. The tsunami of lives will sweep her into the ocean beyond numbers, where she vill be submerged into her master's many millions und millions of lives. She will need to use all of her strength, her _**will**_, to purge herself of her master's blood und return to this land as herself."

"That could take decades!" Walter cried.

"Aw, still have so little faith in Seras Victoria, even to this day?" the Major smirked, with all but his glasses and teeth hidden behind shadows.

"I-I can't do this," Seras gasped, struggling to keep her many eyes open, "I… I want to go home! I want my medicine!"

"You don't need any of that," the Major assured her, "You can overcome this. You just need to fight through it!"

"Someone please, please help my ward!" Walter implored to the audience.

Said audience was gasping and clamoring with delight.

By now, Seras had collapsed backwards so that her back leaned against the wrought-iron gate, and curled up into the fetal position. Her many eyes were starting to droop, and she visibly struggled to keep them open. She did an impressive job, too. While they flickered and drooped visibly, as one who struggles to just barely stay awake, they held out _much_ longer than her master's had.

"You must acknowledge your own existence," the Major said, "You need to retain your own memories in a sea of illusions."

"Need my pills…" Seras sobbed.

"Need to know...!" Walter cried.

"This vill pass, you've got to fight through it!"

"I can't fight through it," Seras sobbed. The many eyes that covered her were slowly closing.

"Did you ever wonder why you only needed medicine when you were feeling distressed?" the Major cried.

"I'm weak as a human," Seras sobbed, as she seemed to space out as her body became increasingly see-through.

"It's not your fault!" Walter cried.

"It's his medicine!" the Major cried, taking out a vial of silver powder.

"It's your medicine?" Seras cried to Walter, barely able to keep her eyes open.

"It's made with silver powder!" the Major gloated.

"It's what?"

"Silver burns a vampire's blood," the Major explained, "which in turn could help burn your master's blood, but with the effect of burning away your strength.

"We made a more refined version after your immediate danger of disappearing was gone," the Doktor explained, "but Walter chose to go with the old, hurriedly made recipe."

Through her foggy mind and increasingly scattered thoughts, Seras remembered what the grave robber said in Mina's tomb:

"Too much and you get sick, but just enough fills your blood with just enough toxins that it feels good when your body purges it."

Was that why she always craved her medicine when she was distressed? Was that why she always felt rejuvenated after it burned her insides?

Was she just some common drug addict trying to get her fix?

"So... I was never sick?" she whispered, her eyes, mind, and body foggy.

"Nein, your master's disease was always real, but..."

"I'm the cause of all your weakness!" Walter confessed, reaching a hand toward her.

The Doktor clicked the another fail-safe button. Walter's body convulsed, and he coughed up blood as he collapsed.

Immediately after, Seras collapsed onto the floor as well. Bloody snow was the last thing she saw before her eyes closed.


	13. Free At Last

Author's Notes: This is the last chapter, followed by the epilogue. Hope you enjoy. =)

Disclaimer: I own none of these, yet now I sing my final song, in this chapter tonight~!

* * *

><p><em>The moment her eyes closed, Seras' entire being flooded with countless memories and emotions. Like a landslide, a tsunami, and entire ocean of lives and feelings and viewpoints that submerged her completely. Endless streams of images and people and scenes flashed before her eyes and sparked inside her mind like a wild fire.<em>

_Seras struggled to remember which were hers and which weren't. Some were familiar, most weren't._

_A little girl playing in the park with her mommy and daddy._

_An old biker in a rundown bar, kicking taking a swig of the barkeeper's best._

_A Vatican priest sneering at the Protestant swine being stuck like the pig it was._

_A young boy losing sight of his mother in a fire._

_Countless images of people being eaten by ghouls from every angle._

_Countless images of children and families and loved ones enjoying happy times shuffled between countless images of adults enjoying each other's company in countless settings (love, familiar, casual, professional, erotic) shuffled between countless images of people screaming and dying of flesh-eating dead shuffled between countless images of people dying horribly in collapsing buildings and fires shuffled between countless images of priests jeering and then screaming fearfully on._

_A dozen images an instant, hundreds of images an extended pause. Time incalculable. Existence immeasurable. Through the bombardment of images, she struggled to keep a grounded sense of herself. Struggled to remember which were his—hers. In the hurricane of memories, she strained to maintain the candle of familiarity._

_Nigh impossible to keep track of them all. Between dozens of images between them, she just barely managed to recognize some as being vaguely related to her own._

_A little girl crying in the closet as her mother went to confront the shooters._

_A young police woman being shot through the lung to get to the evil priest._

_A young Draculina fighting and bickering childishly with laughing mercenaries._

_The attack on Hellsing headquarters and the city of London._

_The return of her master to the city of London._

_The moment her master almost gave into death and she had to call him back._

_The horrible moment that Walter revealed himself to be a traitor._

_The moment she became transparent and could feel her life slipping away._

_Her early years under the care of Walter, chasing the glint in his monocle as the only light in the dark mansion, dark world._

_The first evening he had taken her down to her master's tomb, where she placed a potted chrysanthemum they had planted together._

_The graveyard she had escaped to and gotten shot at._

_The werewolf whose eyes burned into her soul._

_The mysterious grave robber helping her out of the carnival._

_Rip Van Winkle pinned to the wall, stabbed through the chest by her own gun, then morphed into her leaning against the wall, writhing in euphoria from the prick of zydrate._

_Lady Hellsing showing her the hologram of her master in her home._

_Walter's kiss._

_The grave robber strung upside down, smirking seductively at her._

_The image of the Angel of Death turned from her as she tried to strike him._

_The horrible moment of realization that the manifestation of her nightmares was Walter._

_The confrontation on stage._

_The sight of her lady's death._

_Hundreds of memories all swirling and pushing more and more rapidly._

_In the midst of it all, her murderer, her savior, her master appeared before her. Who was he? Pale face, black hair, large red hat and suit. A hurricane of people and memories surrounded him. She struggled to keep his presence from flickering out of sight. _

"_Now is not your time," he said._

_His voice sounded so deep and rich._

_He bit into her neck. His jaws filled with shark teeth. They dug deep. They hurt._

_He started sucking the blood out of her. The life drained out of her and into him. The sea of memories receded rapidly—_

Seras snapped her eyes open.

Her eyes and nostrils filled with sight and scent of bloody snow. The rich aura overwhelmed her, which disturbed her. When she struggled to move, she found that her body slopped around in the rich red that flooded her senses. The floor; she was lying on the floor. It was covered in blood. She struggled to sit up, feeling strangely heavy after being away from her body, yet oddly weightless after regaining her vampire strength. She slopped and slipped around on the wet blood.

Her blured vision slowly cleared to see the trail of blood in the white stage snow flowing from the lifeless body of her lady, impaled through the heart and left to hang on a castle pike. Beyond her impaled mistress, Seras' eyes slowly adjusted to the sight of a dark figure tied to an upside-down cross. It was Walter. He looked so weak and broken up there. His eyes were closed, his eyes and lips tight with pain and despair, and his tarnished body limp and broken. Coarse rope kept him tied to the upside-down cross, knotted around his neck, shoulders, hands (which were tied together behind his back), his thighs and shins. His head hung to the side and his hair over part of his face because there was no rope to hold it up.

The sight of her decreased lady left to hang on a pike and her broken butler tied to a blasphemous cross, each surrounded by pools of blood and neither moving, frightened and unnerved Seras. She whimpered, stumbled backward, away from the blood, when she heard slow clapping from behind her. She slowly turned her head around to see the Major, who was covered in shadows except for his thick spectacles and his gloved hands.

"Well done, Seras Victoria!" he said, "You haf passed your most rigorous test!"

Seras didn't respond. She waited to hear what he wanted.

"Your master was once my arch enemy," the Major continued, putting an arm around her shoulder. She flinched away from his touch. "For over half a century, I worked tirelessly to prepare for the night that I could wage a war that could defeat him once und for all, und go out in a blaze of glory!

"But because of _his_ treachery," the Major continued, and pointed to Walter, whose face flinched, "we won too swiftly; too easily. Now there are no more enemies to fight. Denounce your butler now," the Major cried, gesturing grandly to the audience, "On behalf of your Master! On behalf of Hellsing! For the World to see! Finish the duel that he and your master started long ago; finish the desired duel that fueled his treachery for half a century before and fueled the victories that changed the globe for half a century after!"

The Major then pulled out the gun that Walter had designed for her master years ago, restored for this very occasion. He handed the Jackal to Seras. "Kill him."

Seras stared at the gun in numb horror.

"Kill him!" Jan cheered from the crowd, his mouth and hands full of popcorn.

"Und in return, I shall grant you MillenniCo," Herr Major said.

"WHAT?!" Jan screamed, spilling popcorn everywhere.

"All of it?!" Luke cried; his arm around a beautiful woman.

"Oh, yes!" the Major said, "It hast been too many years since Millennium engaged a worthy enemy!"

"What the fuck?!" Jan screeched, literally climbing and running over people's heads to get to the stage.

"Major, no!" Luke cried, and he literally shoved his date out of the way to get to the stage.

"Now witness it, people!" the Major cried, holding out his Will and a quill. "All I haf to do ist sign the paper! All you haf to do ist pull the trigger…"

Major addressed Seras, ignoring how the Valentine Brothers flocked around him like dogs begging for treats.

"Don't give it to her!"

"Give it to me!"

As they talked, Seras only stared at it in horror. "You… want… to… pay… me… to… kill my butler!"

"I vant you to do vhat ist right!"

"Then give it to me!"

"Don't give it to her!"

"Kill my butler?!"

"This man betrayed your master!"

"You destroyed my master too!"

"Hey, piss off, ya fucking pussy! It's mine!"

"You foul-mouthed little runt! It's mine!"

"He betrayed you all! He ist a liar!"

"A liar you were fine to use!"

"He lied to _you_! Und he poisoned _you_!"

"YOU WANT ME TO KILL!" Seras screamed, dispelling the noise. Seras then turned the gun on the Major and circled around him so that she stood between him and Walter. "I am not a murderer!"

"But you killed so many back in Hellsing!"

"Those were ghouls and vampires hurting innocents!" Seras cried.

On the other side of the stage, the Valentine Brothers were trying to kill each other via strangulation.

"But you lived with this vampire for years; he's killed thousands in his days."

"He never taught me that it's right to do," Seras glared.

Walter cracked a weak smile from his cross.

"But you were turned by the No-Life King; what if he passed his blood-lust onto you?"

"I don't have to share his choices!" Seras cried, looking at the gun like it was too evil and powerful to use. The same gun she saw her master use to massacre those poor men in the Rio de Janeiro. The same gun the traitor designed in a masked attempt to fell her master. On pure impulse, she pressed it back into the Major's hand, as though to try to get its evil off her hands.

"Didn't you say you were infected; didn't you?" the Major shouted, "Didn't you?!"

Seras paused. She glared at him, then just shook her head and tried to walk away.

"I poisoned you," Walter's voice cracked. It was so weak and scratchy. "I'm worse than Herr Major; I drugged your master's blood. I wanted to defeat him so badly; I traded all your lives for a chance to kill him. I had no idea you drank his blood; I never would have let you go if I had..."

Seras thought back to the moment when she had told him farewell, and he had smiled and wished her the same.

The Major smiled sadistically at Walter's heart-wrenching confession, and the Doktor eagerly closed in on his agony; heart-felt soliloquies like these were great for ratings. The audience ate it up as much as their sadistic Fuhrer and Doktor.

"I thought…" his voice cracked, and his expression scrunched up with pain. "When you woke, I could have ended the cycle. Instead I made the same mistakes and drugged your blood. I couldn't lose you—what have I? Seras, I never intended any of this to happen to you… Oh God, what have I done to you…?"

The Major smirked sadistically and aimed the gun at Walter. Hearing all of this, Seras' glared and turned the gun on Herr Major. "You used my butler's grudge to kill my master, then you cried victim on my master's death!"

In the background, Jan had found a machine gun and chased his brother across the stage, firing and screaming, "HA! NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE YA, BITCH?!"

"If he had not fed us that information…"

"**Bollocks!**" Seras snapped, "If you didn't want to win that easy, then you could have ignored his information! You're just as responsible as him!"

"Now, see here—"

"You used my master's death to use my butler!" Seras shouted firmly, "Now you're using my butler's guilt to try to use me too!"

"Your butler deserves everything that happened to him!" the Major shouted, for the first time truly enraged. "He betrayed Hellsing, and he betrayed you too!"

A moment of clarity sparked in Walter's foggy mind.

"_I remember…"_ Walter cried in an inhuman voice.

He remembered undergoing the Doktor's surgery. He remembered believing that he had always wanted it after it was over. He remembered thinking he had always planned and prepared for it. Yet, before he underwent the surgery… when he was still human… there were times when he couldn't fully remember what took place against Millennium in the Second World War.

"Remember my mistakes," he told Seras urgently. "Remember, you can change. Remember, none can make you do what you know is wrong. Remember, you can hold onto your morals no matter how trying times become. Remember that…" he closed his eyes and choked out, "I love you!"

Seras gasped, and visibly relaxed her arms.

As Walter talked, the Major began to hacked and coughed into a bloody handkerchief.

"I'm sorry that I failed you," he continued, visibly struggling to speak, "Now, with no one left to hold you back, it's up to you…"

As he spoke, Seras recovered herself, and strengthened her grip and her aim on the gun; pointed at Herr Major.

"You must go…" Walter rasped, "and shape your unlife into… one that's worthy of remembering."

Seras' face eyes softened with pity.

The Major gritted his teeth and nodded to the Doktor. The Doktor killed the lights and the video. The Opera went black. While vampires can see in the dark, the sudden change caught Seras by surprise. The Major used that surprise to grab the Jackal and aimed it at Walter.

"NO!" Seras cried.

A shot fired.

The audience screamed. Walter's body visibly spasmed as he coughed blood. Seras cried out in distress and ran to Walter.

At the same time, the kick of the Jackal had broken the Major's arm, nailed him in the head, and sent him flying back several feet. He crashed into the wrought-iron fence, also coughing blood. As Walter had once said, the gun was too powerful for any _human_ to handle. After the lights came back on, the Doktor cried out in distress and ran to his Major.

"Mein Fuhrer, are you all right?!"

The Major cackled through broken ribs and coughed up blood. "Hmph, even now, I cannot hit a thing," he said with casual regret.

It was true. The Major had always been a terrible shot, and quite literally couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. (It was humiliating for his superiors to endure during his training in the SS.) The truth was the Jackal had not even come close to hitting its mark. Anticipating this, and not wanting his Fuhrer to lose face, the Doktor had clicked the last fail-safe button around the same time the trigger pulled. It blew every joint, snapped every ligament, and popped every organ in his body except for his heart and head; because they wanted him to remain sentient, but painful and immobile in his useless body.

Seras continued to fuss and fret over him in distress, brushing his body to see where the bullet was and what damage was done. She tried shaking his right arm to make him open his eyes, but the arm disconnected from the shoulder; tied in place only by the rope. Seras screamed, and became frantic.

"…No! Somebody! Somebody, please! Somebody, help!" she cried.

The audience just continued to awe and ooh in thrilled shock. "What a great show!" one of the ladies whispered to the other.

Walter's face lightly slackened as Seras continued to fuss over him. The top half of his body hung like a scarecrow as Seras untied the upper ropes. Blood dripped out of his hair, eyes and mouth. Seras' hands, arms and torso became increasingly soaked, blood the more she tried to frantically keep him together while helping him down.

The Doktor and Major looked on in silence.

"… It seems the girl is still quite taken with him, even now," the Doktor said. "After all we tried to do to turn her against him…"

"Feh," the Major scoffed, "If she wants to cling to that useless sack of flesh, that ist her problem."

"Mein Fuhrer?" the Doktor gasped.

"I had so hoped to find a worthy heir," the Major said, grinning bitterly, "But, alas, there ist no curing stupidity…"

Speak of the Devil, the Valentine Brothers ran up to see what they could do for their fallen leader.

"Ah, it took you long enough," the Major glared.

"Mein Fuhrer, there ist still a cure for your condition," the Doktor said, helping him stand, "If you would just accept it, I implore you…"

"NEIN!" the Major snapped, shoving him away, "I do not need your filthy vampire surgery! What ist mein ist mein! Mein heart, mein mind, mein soul! I would rather die here, than live on as a filthy monster like them."

"Hey, what the fuck?" Jan snapped.

"But, Major…" the Luke cried, shocked and offended.

"Oh, what, you thought I would grant mein legacy to the likes of you? You're not men, you're creatures!"

Rip Van Winkle rushed over to him from the wings, but the Major said, "Nein either! You haf no sense of self! No mind, no body, no soul—you don't even haf a face!"

Wounded, Rip Van Winkle cast her eyes down, then walked briskly away.

"But, mein Fuhrer," the Doktor protested, "When you are gone, who ist to carry on your life's work…?"

"Why, you are, mein good Doktor," the Major said. The Doktor gasped on hearing this. "Regardless of who takes over, you are to continue with your research, as you like. I haf left instructions that you will always receive just the amount you need, for any experiment, no matter who ist in charge."

This was more than the Doktor ever hoped for. He perked up and beamed, "Ja, Mein Fuhrer!"

The Major laughed, and turned toward the audience. "I had hoped to find a worthy heir. Failing that, I had hoped to die in a last war. Und I haf!" he laughed again, "I fired the gun of mein enemy, which kicked back und broke every bone in mein body My death has been accelerated by this gun, so my death has been caused by mein enemy! At last," he said, more slowly, quietly, sluggishly, sedately, "I could enjoy… one last war…"

And the Major's soul escaped through his last breath.

Funeral music blared, and the lights turned deep red, and audience held a moment of silence for their fallen leader.

In the mean time, Seras had been frantically tugging, pulling, and biting on the ropes that propped Walter without causing too much damage to his already frail body. After snapping the last rope with her teeth, she propped up his body and tried to gently lower him to the ground. He was so fragile; the slightest pressure caused the entire limb to crumble. Seras finally lowered him to the ground, with his head propped up on her lap.

Despite looking and feeling complete broken, Walter smiled weakly, and tried to reach a hand up to her face.

"Walter, be still!" Seras cried, "There's nothing you need say. It can wait!"

"Seras…" he whispered weakly, "the curtains are closing for me…"

"No!" Seras cried, stubbornly shaking her head. "No, it's not okay! We'll—I'll fix you. We'll find someone who can…"

As she spoke, Seras crouched over him, cradled him protectively in her arms, then noticed the audience staring. "Oh, for God's sakes! Would somebody please stop staring and _help_?"

"Shh… Seras, it's fine…" he whispered.

"No, no it's not!" she cried again, looking around, and spying the Doktor: "You! You made him this way, now come over here and fix him!"

"It won't work, Seras," Walter whispered, but he was smiling as he said it, "Too much damage..."

"No, not it's not!" Seras cried, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Then she noticed her wrist, and sank her shark-like teeth in till it dripped blood, then held the wrist up to his mouth. "Drink it!" she cried.

He closed his eyes, and nudged his head from side to side, and then coughed more blood. "I'm not a true vampire, Seras."

"But, I…"

"I'm defiled in every way, Seras," he said, looking up at her for the first time with pain. "Even the blood of a saint can't wash the sins out of my soul."

As he lay there in her lap, Seras couldn't help noticing how… how much younger Walter was looking? It was subtle, but his features seemed to be growing tighter, and his hair growing shorter. It… what was going on? What could she do?

"No!" Seras cried. Her eyes welled up, and she kept frantically looking around for anything that might help. "No! There has to be something…!"

"Shhh…" He reached a very weak hand up, brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. Seras gasped. "It's all right. You don't have to waste your tears on a traitor, Seras," he said, pure love in his eyes.

Seras scrunched up her face to keep from crying, and stubbornly tried to rub the tears away with the back of her fist.

"I… used to think the world was a one-act, one-night burlesque," he whispered, "And I just… I just wanted to play the best part I could in the midst of it all... and in doing so, I burned the theatre, everyone I loved…" he looked back into her eyes, "Now it's time for me to leave the stage, Seras."

"But, I…!" Seras screamed, and tears fell from her eyes. "I can't let you die!"

"All defective things must die, Seras."

Seras wept openly at this, and clutched his body and cried into his hair.

"Heh…" he whispered, "At least there was someone to cry for me, in the end…"

Seras struggled to compose herself. She was covered in blood, from hair, to face, to clothes. Only the blood trailing down her cheeks came from her eyes. She caressed his hair absently.

"Sometimes I wanted to cry," she confessed, "When the people on TV were not quite the way we were. Somehow, I guess I just knew…"

She thought of the grave robber saying how some nightmares were too horrible to be dreams. How she never remembered because she didn't want to. If Seras were honest, she would admit he was right. On some level, she had always sensed that there was something sinister lurking just beneath the surface of their idealic life. Walter had always been cold and taciturn toward her, and she had always sensed that there was something sinister about him. She had told herself that just because he was cold didn't mean he was bad, and over the years, she grew to believe herself.

"But I didn't know I'd love you so much," she confessed, smiling fondly, "Didn't know I'd love you so much… I didn't know I'd love you so much…"

Walter tried to turn his pained expression away in guilt and shame as she spoke, but she gently tilted his chin so that his eyes met hers, and she smiled warmly. "But I do…"

"Sometimes I'd stay up all night…" he confessed, "wishing to God that I was the one who died. I know it would never be enough… to atone." He reached his hand up and caressed her hair as he spoke. "I suppose I took you in to try to repent my crimes… But I didn't know I'd love you so much… Didn't know I'd love you so much… I didn't know I'd love you so much… But I do."

Seras smiled lovingly, and caressed his neck as she sang, _"I didn't know I'd love you so much…"_

"_I didn't know I'd love you so much_…" he sang.

"_I didn't know I'd love you so much…"_ they sang, _"but I do."_

"Seras… go," he whispered.

"Walter, no! I will not leave you here. You will live!"

"But you've already saved me, dear," he smiled, weakly, "Now, go and change the world for me."

"_We will always have each other in our time of need…"_ they each said.

"_Seras…"_

"_Walter…"_

"_You're the world to me…"_

Walter smiled weakly, yet euphorically, and then the light dimmed out in his eyes.

Seras whimpered fearfully, and pressed on his cheek. "Walter…?"

He didn't move. His face remained immobile. For the first time in all that she knew him, his eyes truly were dark and hollow.

"Walter, no!" she sobbed, and for the first time she wept openly and clung to his body. "Walter, no!" she sobbed and moaned, "No, no, please!" The audience looked on with sorrow as Seras gathered him into her arms and sobbed into his neck. 'Walter! please!"

Then, as knelt there crying, a curious thing happened. Drops of blood began to slowly float upwards like bubbles, and the blood on the stage began to ripple and flow like little rivers toward the girl. She sobbed and bawled like a babe, then suddenly cried out, "I won't do this again!" And then she sank her teeth into his neck, and began sucking his blood. As the girl drank from his neck, the blood from the stage rapidly flowed toward her. It sprung up like fountains, covered her from head to boot. Some of it flowed into her mouth as she continued to drink; much of it covered her uniform till it was completely soaked through.

When the rivers ran dry, the girl pulled away, with strands of bloody saliva trailing from her shark-like teeth. She was no longer the timid little one-armed girl. Something about her entire countenance changed. Physically, she was covered completely in blood, she had a strange shadow tendril that twitched and writhed. Emotionally… no one knew. She seemed… more mature, womanly. She seemed infinitely dark, sinister, unnerving, though none could ever explain why. She was still a young girl, and yet...

Slowly, she opened her eyes, and they were like the pits of hell.

The audience stared in frozen fear and apprehension, waiting to see what she would do next.

She stared at the traitor's body for a long moment, with an unfathomable expression. Then, she seemed to have a moment of clarity. _"Years…"_ she sang softly, slowly looking up. _"It's been so many years… __**Resenting**__ the years… and my heredity…"_

Her eyes cast down at the body, and it twisted into hatred and disgust. _"Oh… I have hated and loved you… I have hidden behind you… but I finally see…"_ she sang, looking up.

Then, she rose. "You… I've mistaken for destiny… but the truth is my legacy is not up to my genes…" she sang, walking across the stage.

The Major had believed that what made one human was their **will**, their autonomy; a single body, a single heart, mind, and soul. Integra had believed that what defined humans was their sense of duty and honor. A goal that was greater than themselves, which they strive to complete with every fiber of their being. Walter… had believed that humanity was just another role that people played in that farcical cabaret called life. Just another mask the players wore; just another stock character, like the hero, the villain, the trickster, the monster.

Seras disagreed with them all. She believed that it was goodness of character, sweetness of spirit that made one human. The decision to always help others, to always do what one believes is right, no matter what others said. Seras had made the decision to do the right thing no matter what the world told her. She had maintained her will even in the face of the Major's coercion. She had pursued her goal in helping her lady even when told that it was pointless. She had clung to the role that she had chosen for herself, as the do-gooder, even as others tried to choose a new mask or role for her. She would never let anyone cow her again.

Seras stood up. _"True, though the imprint is deep in me, it will always be up to me… up to me…"_

She was determined never She slowly exited the stage, leaving the bloodless bodies of Sir Integra and Walter C. Dornez.

"_Woooooah… Whooooooah… Whoooooah,"_ she sang as she walked down the aisles.

The audience rose in their seats as she walked past them.

"_Free at last…"_ she sang, and continued to walk through the audience like it was the Red Sea.

_Woooooah… Whooooooah… Whoooooah,"_ she continued to sing as she neared the front door. She ignored the spotlight that shined on her, reveled in the fear and reverence her presence inspired in the audience.

"_**Free at last!"**_ she bellowed.

Seras looked back only once, then threw open the heavy doors to face the dawn.

Sunlight poured in from the outside. The sun had risen, and its rays shined down like Heaven. A crowd of onlookers surrounded the Opera House, all clamoring and snapping pictures. The limo was parked in front of them, and the Captain stood in front of the limo. When he saw Seras approach, he placed a hand in front of his chest and bowed ever so slightly.

Seras hesitated. She had to admit this was terrifying. After decades of hiding in the dark, following the orders of others, and letting the world turn as it would, the idea of facing the dawn and confronting the world was terrifying.

Her fear was soothed, however, by the presence of the two people she loved best. Their love and encouragement, their experience and memories, and their very essence in her heart and soul, served to make the unknown seem less terrifying to face.

To her right, she felt the presence of her lady, glowing with pride.

"_Well done, my servant…"_

Seras beamed at this, and sought the feelings of her other.

He seemed to reside in the dark recesses of her soul. He felt unworthy to be in the presence of the two ladies that he had hurt so deeply over so many years. He regretted that she drank his blood. Alucard had said what splendid ladies they were, and how they were his alone. His beloved master, and his beloved servant… they were not Walter's anymore. And yet, here he was, sharing a single body and heart with them, and he felt infinitely unworthy. He wanted to remain as unobtrusive as possible. He especially writhed from the pain of guilt toward her lady, whom he felt he could never begin to repay, and who would never begin to forgive him. She, in turn, was not ready to accept him either.

Seras could feel the years of pain between them. So many years of anger, guilt, and regret that they would probably never recover from… Seras could feel their pain and their memories as though they were hers. Yet, she spread her warmth and good will toward them, hoping to sooth their pain like a balm.

Her subconscious cooed Walter's out like a child coos out a frightened animal. He seemed to expand within her slowly, and to approach her heart with great hesitation. Seras' heart swelled with love, and her blood embraced his.

"The night is behind us," Seras whispered, "And the dawn rises before us. It's time to embrace the morning."

Seras stood before the crowd, the sun, the world. She took a step forward.


	14. Epilogue

Author's Notes: I must admit I'm a little over this fic. I worked so hard on it for so long that now I'm ready to move onto other ones.

Disclaimer: I'll add a tie-in lemon shot on reader demand, but after this, I wash my hands of this fic. It's a baby bird that's finally taken wing.

* * *

><p>The following night, the Grave Robber stood before a group of scalpel sluts warming their hands before a trash fire again. He held a copy of the evening paper. On the front page was a picture of the Mignonette, looking over her shoulder at the camera. She was smiling confidently. The headlines read "Last Night's Opera!" On a slightly smaller caption on the bottom: "Under New Management."<p>

"Goth Opera…" he said, "Blood saga. Sometimes I wonder how we ever got here…"

As he flipped it open to see the content of the stories.

"Old grudges… Scorned lovers…"

The tag to the main article read: "Last Night's Blood Feud: A Century Old?"

The Grave Robber smirked contemptuously, and tossed the paper into the fire. "Sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on! Cause we all end up in a tiny pine box. A mighty small drop in a mighty dark plot. And the mighty fine print hastens the trip to our epilogue."

"Epilogue!" someone cried in the distance.

He smirked, "But the little girl agreed and the king reneged. And the castle is left for the taking. But MillenniCo may survive if it undergoes surgery. Surgery…"

"Surgery…" a scalpel slut moaned.

"Surgery…" he agreed, and they faded into the night.

In case you've wondered what became of MillenniCo…

"Our heroes will not be forgotten," Rip Van Winkle declared the following night.

After Seras accepted leadership MillenniCo, the lieutenants immediately pledged loyalty to her. Seras distrusted their showy displays of devotion, and Integra and Walter advised her to get rid of them before they had a chance to double-cross her. Seras hated them to the depths of her souls thanks to her memories of Integra's torture and Walter's enslavement, but could not bring herself to do it. The public didn't know what they did, and technically had not done anything to her yet. She would be no better than their previous tyrant if she killed without due cause. She would give them one chance to make things right.

It didn't take long for the lieutenants to show their true colors. While they preached devotion on the morning of the opera, when Seras stood before a crowd of cameras, microphones and photographers, the following night they decided to use the very same press to ensure their new positions in the opera. They held a press conference discussing MillenniCo's new change in management, and claimed it was on Seras' behalf. They assumed she wouldn't do anything because they figured she was a slave to PR, just as they had been.

Rip Van Winkle strutted forward out of the opera, well-dressed and well-spoken. Her face was impeccable.

"Seras Victoria may haf taken the helm, but the works of MillenniCo will live on, under new management," she smirked, "Me."

The crowd clapped lightly. Their new Fuhrer, Seras Victoria, did not declare this change in management herself, and so they secretly questioned the validity of this statement, or Seras' true authority as head of MillenniCo, or both. Were the lieutenants subtly trying to usurp her, or was she a puppet ruler? At the same time, the audience was too well-conditioned by the previous regime to question their leaders, and so they merely clapped politely.

"WOO! FUCK YEAH! Rip Van Winkle, everyone! Rip Van Winkle!" Jan cried, clapping encouragingly at the audience. When they didn't pick up, he said, "… I can't hear you…" they still didn't pick up, "I CAN'T FUCKING HEAR YOU, YOU FUCKING PISSANTS! IF YOU DON'T START APPLAUDING—"

The television cameras censored the next part.

As the two talked, Luke caressed Rip's face fondly. She swatted his hand away.

Rip Van Winkle soon auctioned her face to charity, as a symbol of change.

At the auction hall, Jan murdered the top three winners.

Luke won the auction. He wore Rip Van Winkle's face with pride.

Then, Seras Victoria slaughtered them all for insubordination and attempted usurpation.

No sooner did Luke don the face that Jan had shot up three people to obtain did Seras burst into the auction hall, her eyes glowing with rage.

"I gave you one chance…" she finally said to them, seething with rage and glaring with all the hatred of Hell, "One… _bloody_ chance to make things right and help this nation recover. Instead you turn on me; turn on _them_!" She gestured to the murdered auctioneers, all sprawled out on the floor directly in front of the stage.

"I don't know what you're on about, Fraulein," Rip laughed gaily, "We're just trying to continue MillenniCo's noble work…"

Seras lashed out a long, thin strand of her shadowy tendril and snapped Rip like a whip.

"MillenniCo's 'noble work' is exactly what needs to change!" Seras said firmly, "We cannot keep selling people products just to take it back."

"Oh, so, what? You're saying people shouldn't have new organs?" Jan cried, addressing the audience.

"No," Seras said firmly, "that's not what I'm saying…"

"So you're saying people shouldn't undergo surgery even if they need it?!"

"That's not what I'm saying at all!" Seras shouted, angrily.

"So you're saying we shouldn't retrieve organs if other people desperately need it?"

"If by 'retrieve' you mean murder the people with them in cold blood…"

Outside the auction house, scalpel sluts from all over the crumbling city paused in their daily routines to look at the screens.

"Well, clearly you don't believe in the ideals of Millennium!"

"It seems you want people with organ failure to die!"

"You took the helm of MillenniCo but don't believe in its ideals?"

"You're a mother-fucking traitor to MillenniCo, bitch!" Jan shouted, bulling out two machine guns. "Don't believe in Millennium's policy? Don't fucking grab the cockpit, bitch!"

Rip Van Winkle pulled out her flint-lock musket. "Indeed! If you will not serve Millennium loyally, then all you have to do, you bloody traitor, die. Dirty limey!"

And they fired. The audience screamed and gasped as the auditorium exploded with rapid gunfire from Jan, and the wide dome ceiling with the zig-zagging bullet of Rip Van Winkle. However, none of the bullets hit their marks, or anyone else. Before they could reach Seras, they all seemed to explode into clouds of fine silver powder; like fireworks.

When the smoke cleared, they found Seras Victoria standing there, smirking and unscathed. She was partially surrounded by an inner layer of writhing shadow-blood tendrils… and an outer layer of glimmering wires. The lieutenants and the audience alike gasped to find Walter C. Dornez standing beside Seras, poised for battle and his wires flexed protectively around her.

The lieutenants panicked for a moment, then figured that Walter wasn't that tough anyway, and tried to shoot at them. Between Seras' prowess as a Draculina and Walter's prowess as an expert Vampire Hunter, with her bloody tendrils and his razor wires, the two were easily able to make short work of them. However, they paused before making the killing blow, and stepped respectfully aside for their lady.

The crowd gasped and cheered when they saw their beloved Lady Hellsing.

With the lieutenants maimed and bleeding on the ground, Integra looked them dead in the eyes as she pulled the trigger.

"That's quite enough of that, thank you very much," Integra said as she addressed the terrified auction hall.

The audience was gasping and murmuring in shock and horror. Lady Hellsing was alive?! She killed their lieutenants? Did they put on a show for this auction?This girl truly was the head of MillenniCo? Their lietenants really were dead without their previous Fuhrer's consent? Was this a hostile takeover? Was this just part of the show? What would it mean for them?

To the crowded auction hall's shocked silence, Seras stomped on the metal floor plates so hard that the edge under her feet drove down, while the edge on the other side tore up, bringing the bodies of the murdered auction winners high in the air, for everyone to see. They were covered with blood and bullet wounds, from where Jan had shot them down. Seras waited for the scene to sink in. She then nodded to the Captain, who stood a ways off, and the two of them then stomped at the huge metal floor boards again. He then tore them out of the ground. Underneath the clean metal was a mass grave, filled with so many rotting bodies piled so closely together you couldn't see how tall the pile was.

The audience gasped and shot out of their seats with horror, once they realized what was under their feet.

Sir Integra waited for them to calm down before she nodded to Seras.

"MillenniCo will not be doing this anymore!" Seras said, surveying the audience calmly.

"That is correct," Integra said, "There will be no more victims of the Angel of Death," turning to Walter on her left.

He continued to brandish his wires, so that he and his ladies were all standing inside a protective whirlpool.

"We will no longer sell you organs for the express purpose of murdering you to get them back," she said, and tore Rip Van Winkle's face in half. She let the tattered pieces fall to the ground.

Much to her dismay, most people watched the fallen face with shock and grief, with a clear expression of: "But I wanted that!"

"And we will no longer hide the corruption and decay under pretty shrouds," she said, turning to Lady Hellsing to her right.

The three stood before the audience: tall, proud, confident, and dangerous.

"Organ decay continues to be a problem," Integra said, "and we shall focus our efforts on finding a cure for organ failure, not just replacements once the organs have already gone. We shall still provide organs for those who need them, and elective surgeries who desire and can afford it. However, we shall be much more scrutinizing of whom we provide our services. If we feel that you do not have the financial means to obtain an organ, or are not in need of a surgery, we shall be well within our rights to deny you; rather than allowing you to default or sending out the Angel of Death. We wish to expand our company beyond the surgical room; expand the city, expand the economy, expand your lives outside the operating room. We are hoping to build a world where you will have surgeries to live, not live for surgeries."

Much to their dismay, most of the people in the auction house just stared in stunned silence. None of them seemed particularly thrilled with the news. 'Why should they?' Walter would later say to Seras, "They can afford as many organs as they want. What do they care about self-control or the Angel of Death, when they have no need to fear him?"

Dejected, but still outwardly proud, Seras and her familiars walked out of the auction hall as she had in the opera the night before. People stared after her more with terror, less with reverence. Seras was to learn in the months to come that filling a power vacuum in the aftermath of a totalitarian government would be difficult indeed.

However, when she pushed open the giant oak doors, however, she was greeted with the entire streets of the city filled with people cheering loudly. Seras' eyes widened in surprise. Hundreds of poor people in rags and fishnets and tattered lingerie all gathered from all over the crumbling city to cheer their new leader. What touched Seras was that not one of them had been directed to do so. Well—Seras spotted the grave robber among them, smirking and lifting his zydrate vial to her like it was a martini glass. Seras stared at him. 'You did this?'

He gave a slight nod, still smiling mysteriously.

Seras smiled, her eyes filled with joy and gratitude.

The people cried out their happy hopes to the new leader.

"Down With Repossessions!" someone scrawled on a large piece of cardboard, in blood.

"Clip the Angel's Wings!" someone scrawled on another.

However, she was a little sobered when they all clamored after Integra.

"WE LOVE YOU, LADY HELLSING!"

"I KNEW IT WAS JUST PART OF THE SHOW!"

"LADY HELLSING FOR MILLENNIUM!"

Seras smiled wryly. Of course, put Lady Hellsing on any campaigned and people would follow.

Several overly enthusiastic ones tried to rush the stage, but Walter brandished his wires at them. To this, Seras placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned her head against his arm, smiling fondly. Walter looked deeply affected by the simple touch, and lowered his wires.

For the second time, the light of day began to dawn.

Seras spotted the Captain in the distance, and nodded to him.

"MAKE US PROUD, FUHRER!" someone screamed in the crowd.

Seras nodded, summoned her familiars and kicked off.

The story ended as it should have began, with the young lady flying toward the dead city, like an arrow from a fully drawn bow, without regard even for the light of day, to chase the morning.


End file.
